


Here's Looking At Us

by naarna



Series: Dramione Remix [3]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: 1944, Alternate Universe - Historical, Alternate Universe - No Voldemort, Based on a film, Casablanca References, Comfort Sex, Community: dramione_remix, Drama, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, F/M, Fascism, French Resistance, Grief/Mourning, Minor Character Death, Taboo on Apparition, War Fic, World War II, casablanca - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-29
Updated: 2017-08-29
Packaged: 2018-12-21 01:40:23
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 24,146
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11933649
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/naarna/pseuds/naarna
Summary: It's 1944. After leaving Casablanca behind, Draco has opened another joint in a small provincial town in Northern France, helping the local resistance group fighting against the occupying fascists. A letter from Hermione asking for help, however, changes everything...





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [Casablanca](https://archiveofourown.org/external_works/319422) by Michael Curtiz. 



> This story is based on the couple "Rick/Ilsa" from the film _Casablanca_ , and it's supposed to be a sequel of sorts.
> 
> In the film _Casablanca_ , Rick is the owner of a nightclub called Rick's café in Casablanca. He gets contacted by his former lover Ilsa because she had heard that he could help her flee to the States. To Rick's dislike, he discovers that Ilsa is married, but in the end decides to help them escape.
> 
> Within the story, I consistently call it a _"café"_ , but it's meant to be more like a nightclub sort of place like it was in Casablanca. 
> 
> Last, but not least, many, many heartfelt thanks to my wonderful beta _leoprior_ for combing through my work, your help is much appreciated! 
> 
> In addition, just as many thanks to _amyeco_ for providing feedback on my draft and for cheerleading—I love you, dear! Another big thank you to _EvoraBlake_ for providing feedback, especially on the smut scene in this story, and for simply being supportive! And also many thanks to _CJRed_ for support and feedback! And to everyone else who was patient enough to listen to my doubts and ramblings while trying to finish the story before the deadline... I love you all!
> 
> I do hope you enjoy the story! :-)

 

_Draco,_  
_I need your help._  
_My husband is dead and I'm no longer safe where I am._  
_You're the only one I still trust._  
_Remember the bike trip..._  
_Hermione_

 

Sitting at the worn-out table in his makeshift kitchen, Draco read those few lines over and over again, already knowing them by heart from the previous read-throughs. Next to him on the table stood a cup of steaming coffee that was entirely too bitter for his taste—he would have loved to add a piece of sugar to even out the bitterness, but they had run out of their sugar yesterday. No one had thought of replenishing the last piece before using it. And supplies were hard to get your hands on these days, in the midst of this on-going war. Even for him.

No one remembered how the wizarding world had been sucked into the war; it had been going on for so long that it would take a very good memory or a historian to dig up the truth, because these days, people all around were too occupied with survival to care too much about it. Himself included.

The letter had been unexpected, especially since he had thought that Hermione and her husband, that redhead he slightly despised, had fled into safety to coordinate the resistance from there. But then, what was _safety_ nowadays, anyway? No place was safe anymore, not with the whole world involved in a war that could mean the end of humanity if the wrong side won.

At least he still had his café, aptly named _Draco's_ , and it was still the thriving meeting place of the desperate seeking help as well as the occupying soldiers out for a drink. Just like in Casablanca, the café he now owned in Abbeville, a small provincial town not too far from the Atlantic coast, was meant to be a neutral zone between factions, a sanctuary from the war. As much as he disliked them, the fascists were just as much allowed to have a drink as the members of the resistance or the ordinary town people were. He hid his true allegiance to the resistance's cause so well that the occupying fascists never even suspected anything and even considered him neutral. Or if they did suspect something, they never had any actual proof.

 _Remember the bike trip..._ Draco brought the cup to his lips for a sip and groaned at the bitter taste. It wasn't the first such coffee he has had ever since they had run out of sugar, but he just couldn't get used to the taste. It was a strong reminder to check their coffee supply to avoid running out of it as well, as it was near impossible to find any real coffee these days—it was a luxury, but one he couldn't live without in the morning. Pushing the thoughts about coffee aside, he tried to remember where they went on their bike trip. He remembered colourful trees and her hair flowing wildly in the wind. Her untameable mane he had loved to bury his hands in. He remembered stolen, fervent kisses between trees, away from the street. And he remembered going from keeping each other warm in an abandoned building to the discarding of clothes. He remembered those days as some of his best—carefree, not yet touched by the war, and full of her laughter and little moans. He remembered where the building had been.

“You're up early, my dear.”

With a soft smile, Draco looked up from the letter and towards the door where Pansy was standing, watching him with one of her sleepy, but amused smiles. “Had an urgent letter delivered. There's still some coffee in the pot.”

Pansy brushed through her mess of black hair, trying to bring some minimal order into it while entering the kitchen in search for a cup. “Can't they deliver those urgent letters with all the others?” she said, filling her cup with coffee. “The bed was cold without you.”

“I'm sorry. I couldn't sleep any longer.”

“You barely slept at all.”

He shrugged. She was right; he had come home late last night, since a party of rather high-ranking fascists had insisted on staying past the closing times, despite his insistence. And Pansy had insisted on a quick shag, claiming it would help her calm down and sleep after worrying about him. He knew she didn't really worry about him; their relationship was more pragmatic than loving. Two people sharing a bed in an attempt to feel less lonely in a world surrounded by war. A resistance group leader and a café owner.

"What's the letter about?" she asked, rummaging through their pantry cupboard. "Don't tell me we forgot to replenish the sugar!"

"We did."

"Ugh." With a disappointed sigh, she leaned against the counter opposite him, blowing over her coffee as if preparing for the onslaught of bitterness. “So, the letter?”

He lifted the piece of paper lying in front of him, his thumb caressing the hurriedly written lines. “Hermione.”

Pansy lowered her cup in surprise. “What's with her? She dead?”

He shook his head. “Her husband is. She asks for help.”

“Shit.” She finally took her first sip of coffee, followed by her usual irritated growl. “You know that the death of her husband is bad news, right? He's one the main resistance leaders–”

“Was,” he corrected her and then leaned back, gazing at her fully for the first time this morning. Pansy was a force to reckon with, an invaluable member of the resistance, and a leader of her own resistance group that consisted of both wizarding folk and Muggles. She had one of the highest bounties on her head, though their opponents still preferred to catch her alive. That was why she stayed in his place night after night—it had been placed under a Fidelius Charm as well as several other protective measures. No one could find her here if _he_ didn't tell them where his place was.

She sighed rather dramatically, barely able not to roll her eyes. “Whatever.” Another groan from her indicated she had had another sip. “Seriously, we _need_ to find sugar, and if I have to sell my body to get it!”

“I'll see what I can do at the café... But I won't promise anything.” With a sigh, he wordlessly Summoned a piece of paper and the fountain pen he had once found on a dead Muggle close to his café.

“What are you going to do about Hermione? I mean why doesn't she just Apparate out from wherever she is?”

“Pansy, please,” he said with an irritated tone to his voice, putting the pen down on the table. “Why don't you Apparate wherever you want to go?”

“That fucking taboo,” she said, sighing and brushing her hand through her still messed-up hair. “Traces you to your destination, like a big arrow above your head saying _She's here!..._ I hate it.”

Draco could only agree with her. The taboo on Apparition had complicated everything immensely, and even after more than a couple of years living with it, they still hadn't gotten used to it. A few times, they were caught in a trap without a way out—only by sheer luck and a quickly cast Disillusionment Charm did they not get caught while trying to deliver goods. Those were the moments he wished his old life back; he might have been living in a hidden world, but at least he had been free in his movements.

“She doesn't really say where she is, does she?” Pansy asked, looking at her cup as if another gulp was worth the bitter taste.

He was pulled from his short musing about the past, and he raised an eyebrow. “ _I_ know. That's the only important thing.”

With that, he returned his attention to the letter he needed to write. If he wanted to get Hermione to safety, he needed to act now and contact the right people close to her hiding spot.

“You can't go off to save her,” she retorted, the sneer in her voice clearly showing the irritation about the situation. “Not now. You know my group is counting on you getting the supplies we need for our next attack. Fuck Gamp and his bloody law...”

“Pansy, I know. I never said _I would go_.” He shot her a glare in annoyance, taking up the pen to tap it on the table. “And I told you yesterday that the supplies will be delivered today or tomorrow, depending on the route the smugglers have to take. You better have everything ready they asked for in the bargain.”

“You know I have,” she replied in defiance, swaying her cup; a few drops escaped over the rim and dropped on the already stained floor. “I just want to make it clear that, right now, you can't afford running off to _her_ and probably even take someone from my group with you. I need all of them for the attack–”

“I won't–”

“I mean she wrote you a few lines, and you're already... you know... acting like you're her knight in shining armour. She's a widow, and she is in _mourning_ , don't forget that.”

“Pansy, I said I won't,” he repeated calmly, though tapping louder with the pen. “Just let me finish writing those letters.”

She nodded, letting out a heavy sigh. “All right. Do what you have to do to save her. _I’m_ going back to bed.” She placed the cup on the counter, still more than half full. “Join me when you're finished. Maybe I'll be good enough to do that thing you like...”

He nodded absently, trying to figure out how to convey his message without giving away any details to the occupants who would surely scan his letters. Magical means were useless, as both sides had wizarding folk in their rank—if a Muggle couldn't open or read a letter, then a wizard or witch trained in Detection Spells would check it.

* * *

 

It was Friday evening, and the café was filled with customers looking either for a good time or for help to get away, discreetly so. Draco was keeping an eye on everything going on in his café from the balcony on the floor above where only the staff was permitted. The café had a similar layout as the one he had had in Casablanca, transforming the place according to his memory—the only thing that was missing was a piano. But since Sam had decided to stay in Casablanca, he had no use for a piano here.

To his satisfaction, both Yvette and Edith were as charming as ever serving the customers while Martin at the bar had a jealous eye on his _amante_ , as he called her. French men were surely proud of being known as good lovers, but they also seemed rather jealous and possessive of their women—or maybe they were more upfront about it than Draco and his fellow English men. But then, Yvette's charm helped to inconspicuously raise the prices in the café as it had become even more difficult to get his hands on supplies—alcohol was especially difficult with the embargo and the controls everywhere. The fascists sometimes even just confiscated alcohol deliveries to get a free drink or two. Still musing about the complications of war times, he saw Yvette pointing her head to the café entrance with thinly pressed lips.

Lieutenant Gruber had arrived. And he looked official this time.

With a sigh, Draco moved downstairs to meet the lieutenant and his people while also trying to keep the peace in his café. He saw several guests making a move to the bathrooms, where an exit was hidden that only he and Yvette knew about. “What a pleasure to meet you tonight, Lieutenant. I still have a bottle of your favourite gin at the bar–”

“I'm not here for a drink, Mr Malfoy.” Gruber held up a document that was plastered with several official looking stamps. “This is a search warrant for your café and all adjacent offices and quarters.”

This wasn't the first time his café had been searched, as Lieutenant Gruber issued a search warrant each time the resistance carried out a plan to attack their quarters or a convoy carrying either supplies or prisoners of war. Yet, Gruber insisted to search his café repeatedly, even though he had never come up with anything that would incriminate Draco in the slightest. “Well, then. You know where to find everything. However, leave my customers alone–”

“Oh, I know you're serving fugitives, Mr Malfoy. I know you help them flee the continent, and one day, I will find proof of it.”

Draco's lips turned into a brief condescending smile, mostly to keep himself from sneering at the lieutenant's words. “This is a place of respite for all parties involved. I want to keep it that way. So, leave my customers alone.”

Gruber discreetly waved at his subordinates to start searching the café, then returned his focus to Draco. “I changed my mind, I'd like a gin now while my soldiers search your place,” he said, nodding at the last customers passing them to leave through the front entrance.

“Martin, pull out the good gin for the gentleman here.” Draco made an inviting move towards the bar where the French man was putting two glasses and a bottle of gin on the counter, his eyebrow raised sceptically.

“As always, only the best in your café,” Gruber said smugly, reaching for his glass. “Now, what do you know about the attack on the convoy that was supposed to pass through the village yesterday? It was supposed to deliver new soldiers...”

“Well, you know, I hear many rumours about a lot of things,” Draco replied evasively. “I own a café, after all.”

“Which means you either know nothing about it, or you won't tell me voluntarily.” Gruber took a first sip of his gin. “Only by sheer luck nobody got killed, but we are missing most of the weapons and supplies.”

With a short grin, Draco noticed the two soldiers coming out of his office upstairs empty-handed. He would be stupid to store incriminating documents in there. “Well, now that you told me about it–”

“Mr Malfoy, cut it. You have been seen conversing with the resistance group leader, one Ms Parkinson, in here–”

“Which is normal, as this is my café, and she was a customer. I do have the habit of entertaining exceptionally well-looking women myself, and you have to admit, Ms Parkinson is one of those women.”

“Yes.” Gruber nodded, his eyes momentarily wandering off, probably imagining Pansy in front of him.

“Yet, you accuse me of collaborating with the resistance based on the coincidence of her having a drink here. This place is open to everyone, Lieutenant, even to you.” Draco emptied his glass of gin in one go. Of course, Pansy had been here in plain sight, and of course, he had played the charming host to her while they were discussing her plans for the next few days. Yet, as he just said, this place was open to everyone.

“Lieutenant?” the soldiers came back, shaking their heads in frustration. “We found nothing. Not a single document or note, nothing. Not even our _experts_.”

Throwing a glance at the two soldiers, Draco recognised one of them as a wizard, or as the fascists called them, _an expert_. “As I said–”

“Don't be so sure about it, Mr Malfoy,” Gruber said, a disappointed tone to his voice, and got ready to leave. “One day we'll find something, and it will be my personal pleasure to arrest you.”

“Until then, it will be my pleasure to host you,” Draco replied with a satisfactory smile. He was hugely relieved to see Gruber leave his café again, even though now he could close down for the night, as no customers would come back.

“Boss?” Martin asked.

“Clean the bar, then go home, all of you. I'll close everything down.” Draco placed his empty glass on the counter and turned around to climb the stairs to his office. It surely was going to be a complete mess, as always; the soldiers loved pulling everything out and turning the furniture upside-down, and it was up to him to bring it back into order—though, as a wizard, it only took him seconds to do so.

 

“You're home early.”

Draco sighed when he entered his place and heard Pansy's voice. “Thanks to you.”

Pansy got up to greet him, her eyebrow raised in question. “Why? I was stuck here all day–”

“Gruber searched my café because he still thinks I’m helping your group. But as usual, they found nothing.”

“He's a bloodhound, be careful with him.” She pulled him down for a welcome kiss. “I'm glad they've found nothing.”

He placed his hands on the side of her face and gently tilted it upwards so that she ended up facing him. “I'm glad you didn't kill anyone with your job. I don't think Gruber would have been as nice.”

She looked at him with surprisingly longing eyes, her hands stroking over his sides in a soothing manner. “You should get more books,” she finally said in a quiet voice.

“They confiscated _everything_ by now, you know that. Polyjuice Potion is easier to come by than a book not adhering to their ideology.” He knew that the momentary confinement to his place always brought her mood down—she was an active person, always doing things, someone who couldn't stand being stuck in a place. Yet it was necessary for her safety to keep low for a few days, as the fascists were out for her head now. “I'm tired.”

She smiled softly at his kiss on her forehead and then pulled him in for a full embrace. “Thanks.”

* * *

 

A few days later, Pansy showed up in the café after he had just closed down, using the secret entrance. “Our usual hideout is being watched,” she said in a breathless whisper. Her sigh indicated that she was relieved to be inside. “We need to hold our meeting here–”

“Here?” Draco asked. “You know what you're risking with that, right? If anyone sees any of you here, I'm dead.”

“Don't be so dramatic, we just have some intel we need to discuss. It's just me and a couple of others that I trust.” She pulled her coat off her shoulders, revealing a dark ensemble she found comfortable.

“Pansy–”

“Please, I owe you a favour if you let them in,” she pleaded with a suggestive smile.

Draco rolled his eyes, but then nodded. Favours were almost a second currency these days, you just helped each other out to the best of your abilities. Though, he was sure that she meant it in a more explicit way, which he didn't exactly mind either because she knew how to please.

To avoid detection from outside, Pansy and a couple of other members of her group cast a set of Concealment Spells before sitting down at the table in the farthest back.

Draco served them all a drink on the house before he retreated to the upper floor from where he could watch them and listen in on the meeting without having to take part. He never wanted to take part, but he wanted to keep an eye on the things happening in his café.

“According to the note from the Amiens headquarters, we're doing a good job of keeping the fascist forces distracted,” Pansy started. “We all have noticed that they have started to pull their forces together at the coast.”

“They think that the Allied forces might land there.”

“But no one knows if the Allies really have such plans, and if they do, where they would land!” The only other woman in the group leaned back, her arms crossed. Draco thought he recognised the face from somewhere, but couldn't make out the features in the sombre light of the main room.

Pansy briefly glared at her, but then broke into a soft smile. “The allies have plans. We have the instructions to collect information about the fascists' positions at the coast and to keep up with our sabotage acts as well as spreading misinformation.”

Draco saw the same soft smile spread on the woman's face; she was probably even blushing slightly. He took a sip from his drink, leaning against the railing. If only Gruber knew what the group had planned—not that he would ever tell anyone about them. He despised the fascists just as much as the members of the resistance group. He'd rather kill himself than denounce them.

“Second point tonight,” Pansy continued, the corners of her lips turning into another smile before she caught herself. “I heard rumours that the fascists caught a resistance group near Paris. I'm not sure about the numbers, but I think they shot quite a few on sight and arrested the rest. From what I've heard, only a couple of people could escape.”

“How do you know?” one of the men in their circle asked curiously.

“Let's just say that I received information about it,” Pansy replied evasively. “No need to endanger ourselves as well as our source.”


	2. Chapter 2

_Draco,_  
_Mission failed. Most of group arrested._  
_Be careful._  
_T._

 

Draco had this note delivered to his café, with Martin handing it over in a discreet move. It didn't exactly help his mood, and he let out a heavy sigh. Why wasn't it ever easy with Hermione?

“Bad news?”

Draco nodded. “You got some of my personal stack down here?”

“That wizard whisky?”

“Yes,” Draco replied, rubbing his temples. “Make it a triple.” He needed that drink now to flush down the emerging anger. He couldn't afford getting all emotional, not on a night his café was packed with customers once more. Thank Merlin, the people trusted him enough to keep his place safe, or he could close down for good.

“Voilà, Boss.” Martin placed the tumbler with a triple amount of Firewhisky in front of him on the counter without any further comment.

“Thanks. Now go back to work. I want a full till tonight.”

“Of course. Yvette and Edith are already doing their best...” With that, Martin returned to his work, taking up orders from the next patron at the bar.

For a while, Draco just watched the patrons in his café, though his mind was stuck on that short note from his contact that their group had been arrested. Merlin yes, that was what Pansy and the others had been talking about heatedly two nights ago—the successful strike of the fascists against the resistance. As good as the resistance was organised these days, someone had to have switched sides and betrayed them.

“Boss?” Martin came back to his corner, nodding towards a couple standing nervously at the bar. “Someone asks for the speciality of the house...”

Draco nodded and took a closer look at the couple—they wore old, slightly torn coats over what looked like clothes that weren't fit for the winter here. They were trying to get away and had been on the run for a while, with only what they had on their body. But above all, they looked weary and run down, a breakdown not too far away. With another nod, he finally got off his bar stool and discreetly joined the couple. “You asked for the speciality of the house?”

The man looked around nervously before he nodded. “A friend said that you help people–”

“We need to get away,” the woman added, clinging to the man's arms; Draco assumed from the visible wedding ring that they were married. “We don't... we don't have much, but we pay whatever we have.”

Draco eyed them once more. It was clear that they hadn't much left, wearing their only possessions on their bodies; the wedding rings were most probably the only jewellery left, the only thing they could possibly sell to secure their getaway. “Why do you need to get away?”

“We collected information for the resistance, and we were discovered.”

Draco knew that a lot of people helped the resistance gather information about the movements of the fascist groups, to find their weak points and help the Allied forces prepare what is rumoured to be an upcoming landing. If those helpers were discovered, they were arrested and then deported into one of those camps the fascists had build throughout the country, or rather throughout Europe.

“Monsieur, we would pay whatever we have to get away...”

His services weren't cheap, as a lot of risk was involved, from getting the right papers to transportation to the next harbour to get them on a ship to safety. Draco shared a look with Martin, who only shrugged with his shoulders while preparing drinks for Yvette to serve at a table. “Come back in two days, and have everything ready you're willing to pay. If you're lucky, you can join a transport to the coast.”

The woman gasped and placed a hand on her mouth to keep herself from squealing in relief. “Thank you,” she whispered.

“Don't thank me yet,” Draco replied and got up again. “Pierre might give you a good price for your wedding rings,” he added before retreating to his office. He just hoped that he could place the couple on that transport to the coast, though they hated taking fugitives along.

“Boss, wait!” Yvette came up to him, her usual warm smile on her lips. “I have a note for you. It got delivered it a couple of minutes ago.” A brief fumbling around in her blouse produced a small piece of paper that she handed to him. “He said it's urgent.”

“Thanks.” He hid the note in his sleeve, then he climbed the first steps of the stairs. “Come to the office later when there are less customers around.”

“The couple?”

He nodded. “Back to work with you.” The note still in his sleeve, he ran up the rest of the stairs.

 

 _Draco,_  
_They almost got me!_  
_Your contact never came..._  
_Please, I need your help! (I'm hiding not far from our first time)_  
_Hermione_

* * *

 

“Draco?” Pansy woke up when he came home, entering their shared bedroom in a hurry. “What's up? Did anything happen?”

He only shook his head and Summoned his only bag to pack the things he might need. Waiting until he could close his café had tested his patience because as soon as he had read the note, he had wanted to leave. “Where's my wool jumper?”

Confused, Pansy sat up. “What's going on here?”

“Where's my wool jumper?” he repeated, going through his clothes stacked in the creaky armoire. He completely ignored her question.

“Draco!” Pansy cried out and climbed off the bed to stop him in his search. Irritated about his behaviour, she grabbed his hands to gain his attention. “What. Is. Going. On?”

“Why didn't you tell me that the group that got arrested was in _her_ area?” He freed one of his hands to pull Hermione's note from his coat pocket to show Pansy.

“I didn't know. You didn't tell me _where_ she was,” she replied, reading through the note with furrowed brows, only to sigh heavily. “Merlin, she tells you to jump, and you follow.”

He grabbed the note back. ”You don't understand.”

Pansy brushed through her hair and smiled sadly. “I do. More than you think, my dear.” She turned around and pulled his wool jumper from another pile. “Shit. I'm going to miss you...”

“Miss me?” Draco asked, his eyes narrowed slightly before he could hide his confusion at her words behind his usual unreadable expression.

“Draco. You're one of my closest friends. _The_ closest, considering we did shag a few times. But this arrangement was never meant to last anyway, was it? We don't _love_ each other except as friends. Doesn't mean I'm not going to miss you...”

“Pans–”

“No.” She shook her head. “For once, listen to me, you idiot. Friends is all we're ever going to be. But it was nice to wake up next to you because it made me feel less lonely. I mean, everyone in this goddamn war feels lonely, so it means a lot to me, okay?”

“I...” He sighed, realisation finally sinking in. Pansy let him go. They never had been lovers in the common sense, only friends taking care of each other, but that didn't mean it stung any less. “Pansy, you don't have to leave. Stay. I just want to bring her to safety, nothing more.”

“What is safer than _this place_? Look, I know you still love her; that's why you're like this right now, and I know it would be useless to stand in your way.” She pulled a second jumper from the pile behind her. “You'll need that too. It's cold outside...”

“Thanks,” he replied, holding the bag up for her to put the jumper in. Then he put the bag on the ground to pull her into an embrace. “I'm going to miss you telling me what an idiot I am for running the café the way I am... or that you keep telling me to keep my feet off your calves–”

“They are always freezing!”

“–or the way you bribed me into helping you. Not that I'm going to stop that, anyway.” He rubbed her back before loosening the grip around her shoulders to look at her. “But I mean it, you can stay. There's enough room for everyone. And I want to keep you safe too, okay? As my friend...”

“Ugh. Softie.” Smirking, she let go and pretended to smooth her nightgown. “Now, go find her. Her presence might just give everyone the right push to finally defeat those fascists.”

“You could do me a favour, however,” he said, taking up the bag to shoulder it. “There's a couple who asked for help to get away. Make sure they get on the transport to the coast in two days. They probably won't have enough to cover the bribes and other costs, but I've instructed Yvette to give you what is needed.”

“I'll make sure they get on it. Now, go, you fool!”

* * *

 

The second he left his place, Draco wished he could Apparate to Hermione's location without revealing them both. It took him the eternity of three days to reach the place he assumed she was hiding in. Three days of worrying to be too late to rescue her because he didn't know where she was hiding exactly. Three days of no sleep because he wanted to get there as fast as he could without raising suspicion. Three days full of the bitter taste of that goddamn coffee to keep him awake. No rest, only the urge to get to where she was.

He reached his destination in the late afternoon; it was a small Muggle village just outside of Paris, and a place they had often visited back then for its Sunday market. He remembered the village as a place full of life, filled with the scents and sounds of people bargaining over fruits and vegetables, or just exchanging the latest gossip. Now, as he walked down the main street, the place was empty—neglected buildings that were already crumbling, dirt and garbage littered everywhere; only a couple of people hurriedly passed him with their heads lowered. However, he knew that every step he made was being watched—by both the hidden fascist supporters as well as the resistance. He hoped for the latter to inform the man he needed right now while officially trying to find a new alcohol supplier for the café. The way the fascists went about their business, he constantly needed new suppliers anyway, so the cover story wasn't too far-fetched, at least not in his opinion.

“You're the ferret?” a thin boy asked the moment Draco wanted to sit down at the fountain on the side of the main street; his hungry eyes were fixed on the bite in Draco's hand.

Draco looked at the boy closely, not surprised to find a weary expression. At the first moment, he was surprised that he was asked this, but then he remembered that a few of his oldest contacts used it as a code name for him. “Yes,” he said with a nod.

“Follow me,” the boy said, nodding towards an empty side street that had seen better days, and Draco got up after another nod to be guided to a door that others seemed to ignore. The boy then gave him a note. “Read this, then you can enter.”

Once inside, Draco found himself in a wizarding place, lit by candles floating above him to show a modestly decorated place. He looked around for a moment—it was a habit formed by the war to take note of everything in a room, but especially of ways to get away.

“I wouldn't have thought you'd show up yourself,” a familiar voice said, with an amused tone to it.

Surprised, Draco turned around, only to find his old comrade Theo standing in the doorway to another room, looking more haggard and worn than Draco remembered, but otherwise unharmed. “You didn't leave me any other option. Where is she? Here?”

Theo shook his head. “Far too dangerous as those idiots are out for both our heads. I'm stuck here. But I managed to hide her with the last people that I still trust.”

“Where?” Draco already turned around to leave the place again to find her. He wasn't here to catch up for old time's sake, only to find her and bring her back to safety.

“Let's eat first, and you look like you could use a decent night's sleep too.”

“I can sleep when I've found her,” Draco retorted, narrowing his eyes at Theo.

“Draco, you look like a wreck. She _is_ safe where she is at the moment, please trust me.” Theo turned around and motioned him to follow.

Draco was led into a kitchen, similar to his—the furniture looked worn, hastily put together to create a useful space. Smelling a stew simmering on the stove, he realised that he was indeed hungry. With a sigh, he sat down, putting his bag on the ground next to him; Theo meanwhile pulled out a couple of bowls and spoons.

“Ever the dramatic one,” Theo said with a smirk, placing the dishes on the table in front of Draco. “The stew is mostly vegetables anyway, but they were able to come by a small piece of meat today.”

“Thanks,” Draco said, nodding briefly. Sat quite comfortably in this kitchen, he suddenly felt the exhaustion come over him, and he yawned violently. “We heard about the arrests...”

“You did?” Theo looked at him in surprise after testing the stew for taste.

“You remember Pansy? Her group was discussing it about a week ago...”

“Pansy? Yeah, I remember her. She was always blunt and headstrong. She has her own group?” Theo brought the pot to the table and sat down before he filled the bowls. “It's not the best, but it fills the stomach.”

“Better than the crumbs I had over the last few days.” Draco carefully blew over the first spoon of stew before he slurped it in, surprised at the decent taste of it all. “How were you discovered?” he asked after a few more hungrily slurped spoons, straightening a bit.

Theo lowered the spoon he was about to put into his mouth, a sad smile showing briefly on his lips. “The fascists control everything here, except for a few people who keep up. I don't know who, but someone has reported everything about us to them—our hiding place, who we were, what our next plan of attack was. I barely got away when they came for us. I've been hiding here ever since... Besides you, only two more people know about this, and they bring me everything I need.”

Draco noticed the restlessness in Theo—the way he was shaking with his legs, or the way he was sighing more often than necessary. “I'm glad they didn't get you.”

“Yeah, me too. Once they get their hands on you, you're dead.” Theo took in the spoon, momentarily closing his eyes. “I'm sorry I couldn't get her out of here.”

Draco nodded in response, he didn't hold it against his old comrade; war complicated everything, and people risked their lives more often than they should. At least she seemed in a safer place than he could have hoped for, which eased his conscience ever so slightly.

The rest of the meal was shared in silence, only broken by the occasional yawn or sigh from both.

* * *

 

Late that night, Draco woke up from people walking around in the place, talking in a hurried voice. He was immediately up, trying to figure out what was going on outside the small room he stayed in for the night. Hurried voices were never a good sign these days. It only took him two steps further to the door, and he found Theo in a whispered argument with another man when he opened it. “What's going on?”

With a look between surprise and embarrassment, Theo looked up. “It's just a rumour about a group connected to the fascists. Nothing to–”

“Nothing to worry?” Draco replied with a sneer, leaning against the frame with crossed arms. “This is war, Theo–”

“Seven hells, I know that. I saw friends die a few days ago!” Theo rubbed his face and then inhaled deeply. “Look, so far, it's just a rumour about the possibility of an attack. We don't even know if it's true. And even if it is, we don't even know yet where they plan to strike.”

The other man cleared his throat, glancing at Draco with a look of recognition. “I think I know where they plan to strike–”

Theo turned around to the man, his eyes narrowed dangerously. “Don't.”

“Boss, don't waste any more time by arguing. The ferret is here for only one reason–”

“I said, _don't_ , Chevalier.” Now, there was a low growl audible in Theo's voice.

Chevalier barely flinched at Theo's implied threat. “Oh come on, you know they are trying to find her. They've already killed her husband, for Merlin's sake! I'm pretty sure they already know where she is located, at least the building.”

“Theo, _where_ is she?” Draco asked, his tone not accepting any evasive answers any longer. He even stepped closer until he was hovering over his old comrade, using his height for intimidation as he sometimes did to get what he wanted. What Chevalier had said so far wasn't something Draco wanted to hear—Theo had assured him that she was safe for the night, and now the fascists knew where she was hiding. “You know why I am here...”

After a few seconds of glancing at the other two, Theo finally gave in with a heavy sigh. “All right, then. Get Dupont and Christine. No need to raise suspicion.”

 

Soon after, the five of them set out in the safety of the dark night for the building Hermione was hiding in. They had been cautious and used both Disillusionment Charms and Repelling Charms on themselves. However, it was quiet, apart from them sneaking through the side streets, nothing disturbed the peace.

For Draco, it was too quiet. His inner alarm kept going off at every shadow, even if it was just a piece of clothing hanging forgotten on a window sill, or a rat running past them. He didn't like it.

And then the person in front, Draco thought it was the woman Theo called Christine, stopped them all. “They are here,” she whispered and pointed to a barely visible building on the other side of the street they've been passing through.

“We're close,” Theo said, pointing discreetly to a two-story house next to the building Christine had singled out, “but we need to move fast now. Dupont, Chevalier, you secure the first floor. Christine, you guard the second floor. Me and Draco, we go in. You can shoot to kill if you have to, but use it sparingly.”

Moments later, they reached the house and sneaked inside after a silently placed _Alohomora_. “Come with me, Draco,” Theo said with a short wave. “If they are already this close, we need to hurry.”

Draco nodded and followed him wordlessly while the other two men took up their positions, facing the door. Upstairs, everything was just as silent as outside, as most people were still asleep. Only the occasional wood board in the floor creaked when one of them stepped on it as carefully as they could. The sound wasn't loud per se, but in the deadly silence of the first floor, it seemed to echo off the walls.

“Christine, you keep an eye on the stairs. Shoot to kill if you have to,” Theo said, knocking a signal on the door at the other end of the corridor; the sound letting them all flinch momentarily and stare at the other doors in fear of being discovered.

The door opened seconds later and revealed a bleary looking woman, who rubbed her eyes; they had apparently woken her from whatever sleep she might have gotten. Her eyes widened when she recognised Theo. “I thought... I thought you were hiding,” she said and opened the door to let the two men in.

“Situation has changed,” Theo replied grimly. “They plan to take her tonight.”

“What?”

As was his habit, Draco had a look around the place. It seemed to consist of a main room that served as both the living room and bedroom, with two doors leading into, as he guessed, the kitchen and a bathroom. He could make out some furniture, and it looked like it had been assembled in a hurry, scavenged from other places that were no longer used. “Where is she?”

Now the woman looked in confusion at Theo, briefly throwing a side-glance at Draco. “Who's he?”

“An old friend; he's come to bring her to proper safety,” Theo explained with an impatient sigh, then signalled Draco to follow him to an old wardrobe. Once they've both climbed inside the empty piece of furniture, Theo briefly smirked at Draco. “Without me, they would have had to tear down the building...”

“Fidelius?”

Theo shook his head. “Didn't have enough time for it. But the entrance is protected by spells.” After another brief smirk, he murmured the words of a spell, and a door appeared. He knocked in a certain rhythm on the back of the wardrobe, repeating it over and over until they could hear a faint sound from the other side.

“Theo?” a female voice asked in surprise that Draco immediately recognised, even causing a small shiver to run down his spine.

“Yes, it's me. I brought someone along you might recog–”

“Draco!” A gasp escaped Hermione's lips before she clasped her hand on it, her eyes wide in shock while she looked at him. “You-You... You're here!”

He nodded and climbed through the hole into the small room she had been hiding in. “I'm sorry I couldn't come earlier.”

“You're here now.” With a small sob, she wrapped her arms around him and buried her face in his shoulder. “They... They just shot him. And I’ve been scared they'd kill me too ever since.”

“It's okay,” he whispered, holding her tightly. He was beyond relief to have found her alive and reasonably well. It had been years since he had last held her like he did now, trying to protect her, and only now, in this single moment, did he realise how much he had actually missed it. “How long have you been in this... this cell?”

She lifted her head, a sad smile on her lips. “Days, but it feels like months. Thank you so much for coming...”

Theo turned his head back; he had seemingly heard something outside. “We need to move now,” he said, his lips pressed together and urging them on to get on the move. “They are inside the house. We haven't got much time.”

 

They made it out of the flat within seconds, all of them with their wands ready to cast jinxes. Downstairs, they heard the sound of fighting, of spells being cast and missing their targets by inches.

“Ready?” Draco asked, squeezing Hermione's hand one last time, and smiled softly when she nodded. “You remember what to do?”

“Do you?” she asked, raising her eyebrow mockingly, but then stepped behind him for cover. His height gave them a slight advantage, as their opponents might not see what's coming for the first couple of spells cast; besides that, they both weren't afraid to cast the deadliest curses and spells in a fight to save their own lives.

“Left,” he whispered as they climbed down the first steps, right into the fight, with Theo in front of them.

“Right,” she replied automatically, and seconds later, they cast the Killing Curse in the given directions, missing their opponents only by an inch.

The move, however, gave Dupont and Chevalier the advantage over their slightly distracted opponents and they knocked them either dead or unconscious. “They were waiting for us,” Dupont said, panting heavily, but looking fine. “I can only presume there might be more outside.”

Hermione threw Theo a disapproving glance when she saw he was about to say something with a sneer. “Just. Don't... No _I told you so_!” she hissed. “Let’s just get out of here.”

“Both of you, stubborn as hell,” Theo replied with a short laugh, shaking his head, but then, he fumbled something out of his coat pocket; it looked like an unremarkable pebble. “If we fail, Apparate to the village church and then press this little thing as tightly as you can; it'll transport you to my place without setting off the taboo alarms,” he said, handing the pebble to Hermione, who accepted it with a grim nod.

“Let's go,” Draco said impatiently and made a move towards the door.

 


	3. Chapter 3

It was a slow Thursday evening a week later when Draco decided to leave the responsibility of closing down the café to Martin, even though he knew that the Frenchman would use the opportunity for an intimate moment with Yvette. But tonight he didn't care, and he could always reprimand his barkeeper the next day if anything was out of order.

No, tonight he planned to show Hermione the headquarters of the resistance, after finally giving in to both Hermione and Pansy arguing with him about the lack of safety. Hermione was furious about having someone decide over her head, but he wanted her safe—he wasn't going to lose her to this goddamn war a second time. So he conceded under the condition that he would be Hermione's company during her visit; as much as he trusted Pansy, he didn't trust everyone in her group.

“Don't frown, Draco,” Hermione said when they walked the short distance from his place to the headquarters. “It doesn't suit you.”

“I frown whenever I want to,” he retorted, not flinching at the glare he earned in response. 

“Petulant child,” she murmured under her breath, just loud enough to let him hear her words.

He stopped mid-walk and turned towards her, his eyes narrowed slightly. “Don't, Hermione. Don't call me that when you know exactly why I'm worried.”

With an appeasing smile, she reached for his hand, only to frown when he hi d it in his coat pocket. “I know, Draco. But please remember that I can protect myself if I have to, I'm not a child you need to supervise every minute of the day. It'll be fine tonight, I promise.”

He knew she was right; people always seemed to underestimate her, but she was fully capable of protecting herself. He just didn't like that she wanted to keep putting herself out there after everything she had been through recently as a consequence.

“Draco, I promise, it's going to be fine. I'm just going to say hello and talk a bit with the people.” She reached into his coat pocket to intertwine her fingers with his. Her soft smile grew wider when he finally nodded in response to her words. “Now, let's get inside. It's freezing, and Pansy promised there would be some cake-looking thing...”

A few silent minutes later, her hand remaining in his coat pocket, they arrived at a derelict looking building that had seemingly taken one hit too many. However, Draco confidently headed for a side door and then knocked in a specific pattern.

Pansy opened, and her smirk widened when she recognised them. “You made it!” She stepped aside to let them in. “We weren't sure you'd come at all... No need to look like a sourpuss, Draco.”

Inside, they were met with a lot of noise coming from everywhere in the room—printing machines in one corner, people still talking heatedly in another, but cheering from everyone else who had seen them enter.

Draco squeezed Hermione's hand gently when he noticed that she was stumbling next to him. “Remember the cake-looking thing,” he whispered with a smirk.

“People, we are finally graced by the famous Hermione Weasley, still better known as Granger...” Pansy couldn't keep a satisfied grin off her face when she introduced Hermione to her group.

“It's great to have you here,” a woman in the corner said with a big smile, even waving briefly. “Sorry for your loss, though.”

“Thanks,” Hermione replied politely, leaning slightly into Draco before she straightened herself again. “I heard there was going to be cake.”

“Oh, Madeleine over there whipped up something,” Pansy replied, pointing to the woman who had offered her condolences just now. “Nothing fancy, though.”

Encouraged by the smiles on everybody's faces, Hermione finally walked further into the room, pulling Draco along as  s he still held onto his hand. “I'm glad to be here, thanks for letting me join...”

“It's an honour to have you in our midst,” a man with a dark brown beret replied, bowing his head slightly. “We’ve heard many stories about your courage...”

“Is it true that you were almost caught by the fascists?” Another man in the row behind asked excitedly.

“Yes, how did you get out of there?” a woman on the other side asked, looking as if she was going to hug Hermione any second, only held back by Draco's rather intimidating look.

“Guys, give her some peace,” Pansy intervened after she had noticed Draco's silent sneer. “I'm sure she will tell the story when she is ready to. Now, bring the cake and the wine.”

A table was hastily cleared and a couple of chairs placed next to it while the cake and wine were brought in with great pomp.

“Draco, please, ease up,” Pansy whispered, nudging him in the side. “I trust these people, and you trust me, can't that be enough? You’ve never been as protective with me...”

He let out a deep sigh. “I know.”

“Good.” Pansy smiled. “I'm going to stay here overnight. You two need an evening alone; you've been dancing around each ever since you got back, and I feel like an intruder right now.”

“You don't have to–”

“Try the wine,” she said, stopping him with the shortest of glares. “I gave Michel a hard time to find a decent box of bottles. And you don't want to know what we had to pay for it.”

When they returned their attention to Hermione and the others, they noticed that Madeleine was already in a deep conversation with Hermione about the difficulty to find nylons, and Hermione's laugh in response to Madeleine's sarcastic remark helped Draco to ease up.

“I tore my last pair while we were travelling back here,” Hermione said, still chuckling.

Another woman, who was filling the glasses with wine, turned around with a look of curiosity. “How did you get out?”

“By sheer luck,” Hermione replied, a hint of sadness to her voice. “They were coming for me, and they even followed us from village to village. So, we had to take a detour.” She kept staring at the woman with the wine, until recognition widened her eyes. “Millie? I mean Millicent?”

“Yes, it's me,” Millicent said with a blush to her cheeks and a brief nod. “Followed Pansy here,” she added more quietly, her eyes fixed once more on the glasses in front of her. Seconds later, she turned around again, a smile on her face and two glasses of wine in her hands, shimmering beautifully in a dark, rich red. “Here.”

Draco smiled politely as he took his glass and took a first sniff of its content. He hadn't seen Millicent Bulstrode in ages, not since their school days in fact. After all, he barely had contact with the group to keep any incriminating witness account to the minimum, except with Pansy, and she usually neither told him too many details about the group's activities for the same reason. The short but warm smile on Millicent's face when she shared a glance with Pansy didn't escape him. Knowing Pansy, Millicent was a lost cause...

Moments later, Pansy raised her glass, demanding everyone's attention. “Toast to those who have fallen for the cause, may their sacrifice not be in vain.”

“Amen,” murmured the others; some of them even made the sign of the cross to honour the fallen.

“And a toast to us, those still living and keeping up the fight because someone has to. May our work be helpful to the Allies.”

“Death to the fascists!” was the overall response to her second toast, with everyone in the room raising their glass.

“And now, let's celebrate the lucky arrival of Hermione!”

With that, pieces of cake were distributed to everyone while the happy chatter filled the room, enjoying a rare moment of peace in this on-going war.

 

It was late when they made it back home to Draco's place, with Hermione being quiet throughout the short walk, her hand squeezing his tightly. Her demeanour didn't change once they stepped inside his place; she only sighed when he carefully pulled her coat off.

He reached for her fidgeting hands once he had hung up both their coats. “What's the matter, Hermione? You're so quiet all of a sudden...”

With a brief, sad smile, she looked up at him. “I know you don't want to hear this, but I just miss him.”

“Hey, it's fine. He was a large part of your life,” he said, carefully pulling her closer inch by inch until he could wrap his arms around her.

“The evening was nice,” she whispered, “but it brought all the memories back. It just hit me, you know?”

“You should have said something; I'm sure Pansy would have understood...”

She shook her head. “They seemed glad that I was there; I didn't want to disappoint them.”

Hearing that, Draco let go of her, only to place his hands on the sides of her face to tilt it up until she was looking at him. “Hermione, you lost someone. They would have understood because they’ve all lost family and friends too.” He gently brushed over her cheeks with his thumbs, wiping away silent tears that she could no longer hold back. “Want to tell me what happened?”

She shook her head once more. “I'm just emotional because I’ve had too much wine, that's all.”

“I don't believe you,” he said in a calm whisper and placed a soft kiss on her forehead. After a weak smile, he reached for her hands on his waist to guide her to the living room area, where he seated her on the worn-out settee he had once found in an abandoned house; he sat down on the sturdy-looking sofa table in front of her. “Tell me what happened. I don't want you to feel like you need to bottle it all up for my sake, all right? I'm glad that you're still alive and that you asked me for help... You know I would do almost anything for you.”

“I-I know,” she replied with a suppressed sob, nodding briefly. “I wish I could tell you how much I appreciate that...”

“You don't have to; I know.”

She wiped away the first angry tears from her cheeks and inhaled deeply. “They just shot him from the back, you know? We were about to arrive at the port to get over to Britain, and they ambushed us. We didn't even have the chance to defend ourselves. I-I... I even had to leave his body behind. They would have killed me too if I had stayed there.”

Draco waited patiently while she let out the grief she had bottled up for so many days—curled up on the sofa, sobbing loudly but no longer bothering to wipe her tears away. It stung his heart to see her break down like this, so vulnerable. In an offer of comfort, he brushed his fingers over her hands and lower arms, and it seemed to soothe her ever so slightly; he kept brushing those soothing patterns until she started to calm down again, emerging, however briefly, from the grief that had so completely overwhelmed her.

“So-Sorry.”

He shook his head gently. “No need to be.”

She pressed her lips into a thin smile and wiped her eyes. “It's stupid really. We weren't even that close any more. We fought a lot, you know? Over nothing and everything in the end.” She grabbed his hand that was still brushing soothing patterns on her wrist and held it tight.

“That's not stupid. We did have our fights too, remember?”

“Yes,” she said, her thin smile widening. “But I also remember that we were able to talk through it in the end, you know? It wasn't like that anymore with Ron; the fighting never really stopped. I think we stopped listening to each other a long time ago. We even slept in separate rooms when we were waiting for the boat in Cherbourg. Separate rooms, Draco! We were married! Married people aren't supposed to sleep in separate rooms!” She tried to suppress a sob, but it only turned into a loud hiccup. “I-I heard that you had a café somewhere in the region, so I tried to get here. But... but the fascists were everywhere... I mean, they were hunting me. That's when I wrote the first note.”

“What about the other members of your group?” he asked calmly, running his thumb gently over her pulse point.

“Harry is... he's in Britain, he's the only one who made it over. God, I still need to tell him that Ron is dead.” Her voice broke when she tried to continue speaking, turning into a voiceless whisper. “I...I can't do that.”

“I can tell him for you,” he offered quietly to take the burden off her shoulders. “Is there any–?”

“Hold me. Please.”

He had her in his arms within seconds, providing a safe place for her to break down and let go of control as long as she needed to. Her grief touched him more than he would have admitted; he had learned to keep his emotions at bay, not letting the constant feeling of loss get too close to him—too many people had died in that war, so the daily news of new deaths had seemingly numbed him. And now there was Hermione crying into his jumper with abandon, and he couldn't help but feel overwhelmed and conflicted for the first time in a long while.

After a while, Hermione finally turned her head to the side and sighed deeply. “You know I thought about you a lot, about the time we had together...”

“You did?” Draco tried to keep his heart under control, but it still jumped at her admission.

“Yes,” she said with a single nod. “I missed those days. Carefree, just the two of us. Maybe I shouldn't have left Casablanca that night with the plane...”

“Please, don't say that–”

“Every time Ron and I fought,” she continued, completely ignoring his interjection, “I had that thought in my mind. _Maybe I shouldn't have left you_.”

He let go of her, only to pull her up. “You did it for a reason, Hermione. What good could you have done if you had stayed with me in Casablanca? Nothing. Maybe save the odd refugee, but that's it. You believed in the cause–”

“Did I?”

“Yes. And you made me believe in it too. You're the reason why I came here—well, not exactly here, but France in general. You're the reason why I help Pansy and her group. You're the reason why I put every cent I still have into providing help for those who ask. I do all of that because you believed in the cause back then.”

“Make me believe again,” she whispered, her forehead touching his while she gently cupped his cheeks with her hands. “Please,” she added, brushing her thumb over his lips.

He closed his eyes at her touch. It was so promising, and it caused him to shiver. All the kisses they had shared before came back, flooding his mind—the feeling of her lips against his, the passion behind every single of their kisses, and how they had always left him wanting more. She couldn't possibly know how much he longed for her touch, how much he longed to once more share that connection with her, yet... “Hermione, you just lost someone. I don't think it's a good idea rig–”

She didn't leave him a chance to finish his sentence, claiming his lips in a searing kiss.

Draco only struggled against the kiss for a couple of seconds until he gave in to her request of comfort and the repeated breathless plea. His fingers digging into the hair on the sides of her face, he kissed back fervently, getting himself lost in the feeling of her lips, something so familiar yet so unknown. Right there, he didn't care any longer about doing the right thing; all he cared about was that he had her back in his arms, offering a comfort he didn't know he needed.

* * *

 

Draco spent the next morning in his office at the café, working on his finances and trying to figure out how to keep the café profitable despite war bringing almost everything else to a standstill. However, that morning, he was working slower through the bills and receipts than usual, as his mind kept going back to that kiss he had shared with Hermione the night before. Her desperate plea still rang in his ears, and licking over his lips ever so often, he could still feel the touch of her lips on his. He had barely slept, trying to sort his thoughts about the implications of it all. At one point, he had given up his attempts to sleep, and had instead decided to come in early and deal with the café's financial aspects, avoiding Hermione altogether for the day.

However, a knock brought him back to the present, and seconds later, a wary looking Edith pushed her head through the door. “Boss? Your friend wants to speak with you...”

“Friend?”

She nodded. “She said it was important.”

Taking a deep breath, Draco nodded, bracing himself for a rather uncomfortable conversation after leaving without a word this morning. “Let her in.”

“Here you are.” To Draco's imminent relief, Pansy came into his office, transformed into an ordinary farmer's wife—except for her nails. “You weren't at your place, so I figured this would be the only other place I'd find you.”

He leaned back, running his fingers along the edge of the desk. “Edith said it was important.”

She sat down on the only other chair available in the room and smirked at him. “Edith wouldn't have let me through to you if I hadn't said that. That woman is over-protective of you, I tell you.”

“What are you planning this time?” he asked, drumming his index finger rather impatiently on the desk. “I'm pretty sure that's the only reason you're here...”

“Mostly, yes.” Her eyes briefly skipped down to his nervous fingers, then went straight back up to meet his gaze. "You know that the fascists are reinforcing their troops at the coast because they think the Allies will land there. They know the allies are coming–"

“And you want to stop them?”

She nodded. “The Allies count on us, Draco.”

“You know that Gruber will search the café again in the hope to find traces of our collaboration? One day, one of us will be too careless...”

“Draco, the Allies are planning something! And we need to keep the fascists from gathering their troops there.” She glided forward on her chair until she sat only on the edge of it, her voice taking on a desperate tone.

“Yes, I’ve heard a few rumours about it.”

She leaned forward, winding herself up like a restless spring. “We don't need much this time...”

He sighed. She always came to him when her group needed supplies—according to magical laws, they could multiply their supplies only to a very low limit and always had to organise the rest. And that was where he came in. It was a highly dangerous task every single time, risking discovery and more whenever he had to plough through his contacts to get what was needed. At least his expenses were more or less covered each time. “Make me a list, and I'll see what I can find. I won't promise anything. And you know my price...”

“No chance this time to pay you in kind, right?” She winked at him knowingly.

Smirking briefly, he shook his head. “No.”

“Pity. It would have been easier... But you'll get your money, don't worry.” Looking somewhat relaxed, she leaned back. “Speaking of _paying in kind_ , Hermione seemed a bit off when I came back to your place. Did you two talk?”

He nodded and leaned back as well, folding his hands before himself in an almost defensive gesture.

“Merlin, when did you come here this morning?” She clicked her tongue in disapproval and let out a sigh. “Draco, what did you do? Hermione told me that she hasn't seen you yet today because you’d left your place before she got up...”

“Nothing.”

“I don't believe you.” Glaring at him, she straightened up in her chair. “So, what did you do?”

“I did nothing,” he replied, holding her gaze. “ _She_ kissed me.”

“What? And...?”

“Nothing.” He shrugged. “Nothing else happened, Pansy.”

“No, no. This isn't _nothing_. I don't care who started it, _you_ should have stopped. Maybe you haven't noticed it, but people around here are rather adamant about paying the dead the proper respect, and what you did... Draco, no. Just no.” She leaned back, shaking her head in disbelief.

“What?”

“It's one thing to shag me, because I'm what the people here would call a _free spirit_ with as much disdain as they can, but _her_? She's a fucking icon, Draco! And she is mourning her dead husband–”

“Whom she didn't love anymore–”

“They won't care about that, Draco. All they care about is that Hermione and Ron were married, so she is supposed to mourn him, regardless of how she felt about him before he got killed.” She got up, only to lean over his desk to reach him, shaking her head once more in disbelief. “You fucking lovesick fool...”

“Are you done?” he retorted, barely holding back a growl. “I fucking know all that... Don't you dare to judge us, you weren't there last night.”

“Yeah, if I had been, it wouldn't have happened.”

He leaned in until his face was only inches from hers. “Your little party caused her to have a breakdown. All she wanted was some comfort.”

“And of all things, it had to be a kiss?”

Sneering at her words, he got up as well. “Make me a list of what you need,” he said in a dismissive growl.

“I _need_ you to keep your hands off of her as long–”

“Keep arguing, and I will up the price this time.”

“Bah!” With a huff, Pansy straightened herself to her full height, only to turn and head towards the office door where she turned back once more before opening it. “All I am saying is that you should be patient, Draco. Please?”

He nodded and watched her leave after a peek outside to make sure no one could see her tiptoe to the secret exit near the bathrooms. As soon as he was alone once more, he sat back down in his chair and let out a deep sigh. Pansy's visit hadn't helped his conflicted emotions about the whole situation at all—he knew that the kiss had breached a list of rules pertaining to the mourning etiquette; he knew that he should indeed be patient until the shortest appropriate amount of time had passed before he could even consider courting her officially. He should have stopped her, but it just didn't feel right to do so in that moment. With one last lick of his lips as if he could still feel hers, he returned to the receipts on his desk.

* * *

 

That day, Draco avoided going back home until the very last moment, until it was time to close down the café for the day. Pansy hadn't come back with her list of supplies either, but he expected that it would take her a while to write it all down; plus there were always moments when she had to stay inside somewhere to keep out of sight. Even the walk home, usually done in hurried steps because it was late and he was tired, took longer. He still had Pansy's words in mind, calling him a lovesick fool just because he hadn't stopped Hermione from kissing him. Why couldn't it ever be easy with Hermione? Just for once?

Eventually, his steps did carry him home, and with a big sigh, he entered the place. He braced himself for the awkward silence between him and Hermione, however they were going to resolve it without hurting the other too much. He stopped in his tracks to take his coat off when he heard a familiar voice speak in the kitchen, with a loud chuckle following. He briefly closed his eyes, fighting against the urge to just button his coat up again and leave the place to sleep at the café.

“No, not like that. He likes them only slightly browned... Put that batch on my plate then.”

“No, he used to like them a bit more crunchy when we were–”

“Trust me, he likes them only slightly browned.”

Pansy. She was here. Teaching Hermione how he liked his fried potatoes. Bloody witch. After a deep breath, he opened his eyes again and hung up his coat to enter the kitchen moments later. Without saying anything, he took a seat at the table.

Pansy nudged Hermione in the side with a nod in his direction, then returned her attention to the pan. “Yes, that's perfect. You're getting the hang of it.”

Hermione's smile froze when she saw him while she piled the potatoes on the plate that was obviously meant for him—the other two plates where already filled. He could see that she was fighting against the urge to just leave the kitchen for her room, as tensely as she stood in front of the stove. 

Pansy then brought the first two plates to the table and placed them at the seats for her and Hermione. “Finally made it home, I see.”

He nodded, his eyes fixed on Hermione, who sighed before taking up his plate to bring it over. “A couple of patrons didn't want to leave.”

“And who are you to throw them out, right?” Pansy replied, not even attempting to hide the spite in her voice, and sat down.

“Here,” Hermione said when she placed his plate with fried potatoes and what looked like an arrangement of winter vegetables in front of him. “Hope you like it.”

“Looks good.” He kept watching Hermione while she sat down. She looked worn, as if she hadn't slept either. Shooting Pansy a side-glance, he noticed her smug smile, and realised she must have arranged this on purpose. Bloody witch.

“I have to say, Hermione's a good cook, the way she handled the potatoes,” Pansy said, breaking the silence at the table while they were eating. “One could think she'd never done anyth–”

“Why are you here, Pans?” Draco interrupted her, putting his fork down again after swallowing his bite.

“You said you wanted a list of supplies...”

“You couldn't have had someone bring it to the café, could you?” He saw Hermione flinch at his low growl, which he hadn't intended. Keeping his eyes fixated on Pansy, he flexed his fingers to keep them from grabbing Hermione's hand for comfort. “You know no boundaries...”

“I live here, too, remember?”

“Draco, stop it,” Hermione said, putting her fork down and looking straight at him for the first time since he had come back home. Her voice was quiet but firm, demanding his attention. “I'm glad she came back because I was lonely...”

He nodded.

"Look, I realised I made a mistake when I kissed you, all right? I just felt... lost in that moment. Yes, lost... And then you looked at me like that–"

“Honey, it's not your fault,” Pansy said with soft smile and put another spoonful of potatoes into her mouth.

Hermione turned around to look at her, narrowing her eyes ever so slightly at the other witch. “It is.”

“I could have stopped it,” Draco replied, reaching for her hand, only to flinch when she pulled it back.

“No,” Hermione said with a shake of her head. “You wouldn't have. _I_ shouldn't have done it in the first place.”

Draco would have loved to hex Pansy a few times for her game, for setting this all up. Pushing the almost empty plate away, he got up. “I'm tired. You can leave the list on the table in the living room, Pansy, and then excuse yourself back to the headquarters.”

“Oh, throwing me out?”

“I am, yes.”

“Draco, don't, please.” Now Hermione reached for his hand while he made to get up. “There's no need to throw her out.”

Barely holding back a sneer when he met Hermione's inquiring gaze, he briefly twined his fingers with hers. “I have had enough. I'm going to bed.”

* * *

 

Later that night, Draco was woken from his sleep by a gentle hand brushing over his shoulder and arm. However, it still took him a few more brushes to fully realise that he wasn't dreaming it. Confused, and struggling to stay awake, he opened his eyes, only to see that he wasn't alone in his bed. “Hey...”

Hermione smiled sadly in response; she lay in front of him, her eyes searching his face. “I couldn't sleep.”

“Nightmare?” he asked softly, searching for her hand with his.

She shook her head. “I'm still not used to sleeping alone in a room... Ron and I have always shared a bed until... until we had to wait for the boat over. I know it sounds stupid, but I just can't sleep alone. It feels weird.”

He yawned and smiled when she let his fingers intertwine with hers. “Is that why you're here?”

She nodded, her eyes wandering down to their hands, avoiding his gaze.

“You know that we are treading on very thin ice right now?”

She nodded once more, this time meeting his gaze. “I know. And I'm really sorry for kissing you, I didn't mean to upset you.”

“I'm not upset.”

She smiled and stroked over his cheek with her free hand. “I like how you always look at me... It's like back in Casablanca, or back in Paris. Your eyes always softened then when you saw me, and they still do now. I missed that. Honestly.”

Fighting to keep his eyes open, he looked at her more intently, noticing the slightly furrowed brows and how she kept biting her lower lip. “Why did you come back? I thought you wanted to reach the States when you came to me in Casablanca...”

“I did. But then Harry contacted us, saying he needed help... And...” She bit her lip again in an attempt to find the right words. “He was his best friend; Ron just couldn't say no.” Her sigh turned into a quiet sob.

“Shh... it's okay.” Carefully, he pulled her closer until he could wrap his free upper arm around her.

“It's not okay. It's...” The rest of her words were lost in another sob, muffled by his pyjama top. “I wished him away, and now he's dead.”

“He didn't die because of you... They shot him in an ambush.” He pulled her up and pressed a soft peck on her forehead to calm her down. “It wasn't your fault.”

She closed her eyes at the touch of his lips and then took a deep breath. “I really should have stayed with you in Casablanca.”

“Don't say that–”

“I'm not saying this because I'm emotional again,” she replied earnestly, shaking her head. “I thought about it, you know? I... I was just confused back then. I mean, I loved him, and then... and then I saw you again. For a moment it was like back in Paris, just the two of us. I know you tried to do the noble thing with sending us away, but I think you wanted me to stay.”

After a heartbeat or two in silence, Draco nodded. “You're here now, that's what counts,” he whispered. “Now try and get some sleep.”

“I had planned to ask for a divorce once we had made it to Britain,” she said in the same whispering tone, ignoring his last remark. “I would have waited for you.”

“Hermione...” Draco couldn't finish his sentence because he couldn't believe what she had just said. It was too much to sort right now with his sleepy brain; it was something to go through the next day. “I wish you hadn't said that. It's not making things easier, you know?”

She sighed. “I'm sorry. I just wanted you to know, that's all.”

“I mean it,” he replied, and closed his eyes because they started to get heavy. “I'm glad you're here now, with me, but we can't just take things up again where we left them... They have changed.”

“Are you saying that you don't want–?”

“No.” He tried to suppress a yawn. “But we can't just continue like nothing happened. Your husband is dead, Hermione, and you're supposed to mourn him, not kiss me.”

She turned on her back, letting out a small disappointed sigh. “Six months. A lot can happen in that time...”

“I know. But I want to do it right. I would wait those six months so that I can court you properly in public.”

“You would?” she asked, turning her head towards him, surprise shining through in her voice.

His eyes still closed, he nodded and then pulled her closer to him. “Now, sleep. You're lucky that I can still talk while half asleep.”

 


	4. Chapter 4

"Thank Merlin!" Hermione muttered two weeks later when she closed the door to Draco's place behind her. "I thought I'd never shake them off..."

Draco looked up from the table from where he could see her lifting the Transforming Spells she used whenever she left his place. He loved how her hair bounced back into being a untameable mane. "What happened?"

"Oh, just two boys thinking they could follow me. I think I finally lost them somewhere close to the church." Her coat now hanging in the wardrobe, she came up to him, a soft smile on her lips. "What are you writing?"

Draco covered the piece of paper in front of him to keep her from reading it. "Just contacting a supplier about a delivery that has gone missing. Nothing to worry about."

Her briefly raised eyebrow was a sign that she didn't entirely believe him, but she apparently wasn't going to delve deeper into the topic. "I brought some texts home to read through. Pansy asked me to check them before they wanted to print their pamphlets..."

"You've always been good with words," he replied and watched her pulling out the pile of paper from her bag before making herself comfortable on the settee. With a small sigh, he returned to his own letter—a request to Theo whether he could locate Ron's body and, if possible, have him brought here for a proper burial. He figured it was better she didn't know the truth in case the plan didn't work; there was no need to open those wounds again, now that she seemed to have calmed down enough, going through fewer moments of grief.

* * *

 

Procuring the supplies for Pansy took Draco a little more effort this time, as some of his usual contacts had been arrested in a crackdown by the fascists, or had only very little to sell of what he needed. It didn't help either that Pansy kept reminding him of the importance of their work and how badly they needed the supplies.

It was late in the afternoon that day when Draco made it back to his café after one last trip through the region to meet up with a contact. He was tired and not in the mood to deal with the patrons more than absolutely necessary, and only longed to close the door of his office behind him to finally have a moment to himself, able to take a breath. Throughout his trip, he felt watched, even though he didn't exactly see anyone following him around—however, he just knew that the fascists kept a close eye on his movements, obsessed with finding a connection to the resistance. If only they knew how deeply he was actually involved...

“Well, hello, mate! Nice of you to finally come in...”

Draco stopped in his absent-minded walk through the café, not paying attention to anyone except a single woman at a table, whom he showed a brief smile. He turned towards the bar from where the familiar voice had come from. However, the voice didn't exactly match the appearance of the only person sitting at the bar.

“A quick look.” And then the face of the man turned into a very familiar one, smiling at him rather smugly.

“Blaise?”

“You recognise me then...”

“Of course I do.” Despite his earlier wish to just shut the office door behind him, Draco joined his friend at the bar, nodding once in response to Martin's questioning look. ”I heard you have your hands full with your business, so it's a surprise to see you here...”

“Yeah, smuggling is where the money's at these days,” Blaise replied and took a sip from his tumbler that was filled with a dark amber liquid, suspiciously looking like Firewhisky. “ I heard they've put quite a ransom on Pansy's head for her successes.”

“Thanks,” Draco said when Martin placed a tumbler in front of him with the same dark amber liquid. “I think she has a death wish by now.”

“Yeah, probably. But who hasn't?” Blaise raised his tumbler to his lips for another sip. “Where have you been, anyway?”

Draco gazed at Blaise with an openly wary expression while he gulped the first half of his tumbler down. “The less you know, the better for both of us...”

“True.”

Yvette came over, her brows furrowed and her lips pressed into a fine line, clutching the tray in her hands. “Boss? There are soldiers outside...”

“Are they causing you trouble?” Today of all days, Draco was not in the mood to deal with soldiers invading his café and disturb the business. He was already walking a very fine line between playing the neutral café owner and helping the resistance carry out their operations against the oppressing fascists. A goddamn fine line, that blurred more and more each day.

Yvette shook her head after a moment, her knuckles white from clutching her tray a bit too tight. “Not yet. But they wanted to know where you were this morning... I told them that you were out on business for the café.”

Draco nodded. “Thanks. Bring them whatever they ordered, but add fifty percent to their bill...”

“Problems?” Blaise asked in a low voice, swaying his tumbler, when Yvette gave the orders through to Martin, who couldn't resist to sneer in disdain when he prepared the drinks.

“Just the usual...” After a sigh, Draco tossed down the rest of his Firewhisky. “Gruber is a bloodhound. Has this crazy idea I help out the resistance.”

Blaise chuckled at that. “Yeah, crazy idea indeed.”

Draco stiffened when he saw who entered his café, barely able to hold back a growl in response. “Speaking of the devil.”

“Mister Malfoy, I have to say your staff has given me better lies as answers to my questions about your whereabouts before,” Gruber said, a smug grin plastered on his face, while he joined Draco at the bar, giving Blaise a scrutinizing look as if he was trying to remember whether he knew the face or not.

“Well, considering you keep either arresting or chasing off my suppliers for the café, I need to make the occasional trips to find new ones willing to sell to me. After all, I want to keep this place running as smoothly as I can, despite the situation...”

“You're making an awful lot of trips these days,” Gruber replied, his attention back on Draco with a stare that would make others crumble before him.

However, Draco met his gaze without wavering. “As I said, you make it difficult to run an even somewhat successful business around here.”

“You were spotted in a village near Paris two weeks ago. Reports say a tall blond man with special abilities was seen helping a known lawbreaker and resistance leader elude our arrest. I'd say you fit the description very well.”

“I do?” Draco asked, sharing a glance with Blaise, who had remained silent so far to avoid drawing unwanted attention on him. He hated how the Muggles described their magic as _special abilities_ and made it sound as if it was an undesired disability if they couldn't use it for their purposes—as if it was something humankind needed to get rid off. Was that why so much more wizarding folk was found on the side of the resistance than the fascists?

“I could arrest you based solely on my suspicions, Mr Malfoy. I _know_ that you are involved with the resistance...”

“Yet you won't because you don't have proof to tackle it on me,” Draco replied, delighting in the brief huff he could elicit from Gruber in response. “I heard rumours you are fortifying your forces at the coast...”

“It's a very dangerous game you’re playing,” Gruber said warningly, wilfully ignoring Draco's last remark. “One day, I'll have the proof, and you're going to pay...” After a brief smirk he whistled, and seconds later a small troop of soldiers stormed inside.

Draco knew what was going to happen, but he didn't give Gruber the satisfaction of jumping to his feet to protect his property. The other patrons have long since left the building, so he was waiting for the destruction to start. He only raised his eyebrow towards Blaise and shrugged.

“Have fun, boys.”

“Mate, they are taking it apart,” Blaise whispered in surprise at the soldiers trashing whatever they could get in their hands, “and you're just sitting here calmly.”

“Not the first time he does that.” Draco nodded to Martin, who was cowering behind the bar, to hand him the Firewhisky bottle.

“And you're not going to do anything about it?”

“And give him a reason to arrest me? Now that's a crazy idea...” With a discreet move, Draco cast a Shield Charm over the shelf showcasing the drinks served in his café. He could mend the bottles, but not refill them once they were broken. And keeping his alcohol stocked was already a hassle without the fascists interfering. And with his simmering anger growing steadily, he kept watching how the soldiers trashed everything to pieces.

* * *

 

Being a wizard helped immensely in the clean-up, as the process of bringing everything back to order went a lot faster, though it still took Draco a couple of hours to make sure that the room was back to its original state. His staff had been wise enough to let him do it, as any Muggle offering to help was only a hindrance to the whole process, so they had a drink to calm down their nerves instead while Draco and Blaise worked their way through the room.

After another couple of seemingly endless hours of supervising his staff cleaning up manually, Draco finally made it back home to his place. It was the first chance to relax that day, and he sighed deeply when he pulled off his coat. “Hermione?” he called when he walked towards the living room, expecting to find her reading through another text for the pamphlet.

No answer.

Draco checked the kitchen, but the room was empty as well, only a pan with what looked like a forgotten meal in it was still placed on the stove. He turned his head when he heard a small sound coming from the area with their bedrooms. She was here. With worry taking over, he followed the sound as he heard it again—it had come from his room, surprisingly enough.

“Hermione?” Carefully, he opened the door to his room, only to find her cuddled up on his bed, clinging to his pillow, and swallowing another sob while rubbing her eyes. “Are you okay?”

She nodded, almost defiantly so, but didn't say anything.

With a sinking heart, he came up to the bed to sit down next to her. “What happened?” he asked softly, offering his hand for her to take. The touch of her fingers prickled for a second when she finally reached for him, and he immediately tightened his grip as a sign that he wasn't going away.

Her gaze wandered from their hands to his face, and her lips curled up into the briefest of smiles, followed by a heavy sigh. “Hold me.”

He nodded in response to her whispered plea; not letting go of her hand, he managed to climb in next to her, only to be surprised by her immediately nestling up against him. “Want to tell me what happened?”

“Were you writing Theo that evening? Did you ask him to find... to find _his_ body?” Her voice was muffled by his shirt, as she had buried her face in his chest, but he could still hear the sadness in it.

“I was.” He wrapped his free arm around her, hiding his hand in her hair until his fingers touched her back. “I thought it might help you find proper closure...”

“Theo wrote back.” Biting back another sob, she pulled him closer, the grip of her hand on his back tightening even more. “He couldn't find him.”

He felt a small sting in his heart when her voice cracked at those words, knowing that she stubbornly tried to keep the tears from running. “It's okay. It was worth a shot.”

After a deep breath, she started to move herself upwards until she was properly facing him. “I thought I could handle those kind of things by now, but reading the note brought back that moment. I mean, when they shot him...” Her free hand wandered from his back over his chest to his neck.

He closed his eyes at the touch of her thumb brushing over his cheek; without realising it, he even leaned into the touch. It was so simple, yet it brought back the longing that had always been bubbling underneath the surface ever since the kiss. She was so goddamn close, fixating him with her dark amber eyes like a lost child searching for comfort, searching for love. He wanted to give her all that and more; he'd give her the world if he could. But then, he had made a promise to wait.

"You think too much," she whispered, her thumb now running along the lines of his lips.

"And you're not thinking straight," he replied in the same hushed voice. The touch of her thumb on his lips sent shivers through his body, and he couldn't resist kissing it gently.

"Love me."

"You know I do."

She shook her head and inched closer, until their noses touched. "Not like that." With a longing plea in her eyes, she pressed her lips on his. "Show me. Please."

With a sigh, Draco gently framed her face to stop her from kissing him, even though she was so temptingly close. "You have no idea what you're asking."

Again, she shook her head. "Please... Remind me of our days in Paris. Love me."

This time, he didn't stop her from placing soft kisses on his lips and cheeks, melting more and more with every single touch of her lips—his walls breaking against the promise of her lips to comfort his tired soul. She wasn't just demanding to be loved, she was offering to love him in return. His heart beating faster, he finally parted his lips and pulled her closer for a deeper, claiming kiss, intent on chasing her demons away—and his in the process. She was his, and nothing was holding them back any longer. She was his forever this time. "I love you. Always have."

"I love you." Her breathless whisper between kisses was barely audible, but she repeated it over and over again. Rolling on her back, she pulled him along, until he was lying on top of her.

A small moan escaped him when she scraped over his shoulders but then returned to running through his hair, leaving a prickling trail on his skin. Panting heavily, he broke off, though he remained within inches. There was this tiny nagging voice in the back of his head that reminded him that this wasn't a good idea, that he should stop now. But he couldn't. He could feel his own treacherous soul ache for her touch. Yet his heart was the most treacherous of all, beating in excitement and hungry for her love. No, he couldn't possibly stop now.

She kept running her fingers over his neck and through his hair while licking her reddened lips. Her soft smile widened when he let his hand slip under the blouse she was wearing, greeted by the same soft skin he had memorised all those years ago.

That first touch of her skin erased even the smallest nagging thought; it electrified him, and eager for more, he unbuttoned the blouse, only to reveal a simple white satin brassiere. For a moment, he remained still, taking in the view in front of him—it was such a simple, everyday garment, and yet to him, she looked mesmerising in it.

“What?” she asked, blushing under his fixed gaze over her bared upper body.

“Just like I remember,” he said with appreciation to his voice before he leaned back over her, only to start planting teasing kisses all over her jaw, neck and collarbone, relishing the small sounds and moans he could elicit from her. It was as if they were back in their days in Paris, as if they were intent on erasing the memory of their separation.

Each piece of clothing was removed slowly, for Draco an opportunity to re-acquaint himself with every inch of her body—war certainly had left its marks, and it taken a lot of her softness he had revelled in so much in the past. But she still arched the same way into his touch whenever he ran his hands over her breasts and stomach, still moaned just as passionately when he paid those soft and perky mounds even closer attention.

And Hermione remembered those days too, running her hands over his skin wherever she managed to remove parts of his clothing. When no layer was left between them, she grew more desperate for his touch, wrapping her legs around his waist to urge him on. “Draco,” she finally whispered breathlessly, “please.”

He stopped the trail of kisses down her stomach and looked up; he had been so close to her mons, he could already smell the enticing scent of her arousal while his hands had been caressing her thighs, teasing her with strokes over her well-trimmed folds. Oh, she wasn't the only one aroused, he was aching for more, his cock aching to bury itself in her and just get lost in the glorious feel of it. Grunting, as his arousal made moving around slightly painful, he came back up to her. “You're sure?” he asked softly, kissing her jaw, only to fail to suppress a moan when she repositioned herself so that his cock came in contact with her folds.

She nodded. “Please,” she repeated in a voiceless whisper, her hands already guiding his cock to the right entrance.

For a split second, he lost control when she wrapped her fingers around him, the feel of it was just too good. After a deep breath, he slowly entered her and heard her gasp at the sensation while her hands on his arse urged him to go deeper, to fill her out. Merlin, if only she knew how good it felt, and how much willpower it cost him to keep a slow pace! He wanted to savour it all, every single inch until he was fully buried inside her.

He stopped once they were completely connected, simply indulging in the feeling of it all, of something so exquisite he never thought he would ever be able to enjoy again. _Her_. Around him.

With a lazy smile, he claimed her lips in a kiss and then finally started moving, earning him a deep moan from her that vibrated back into his throat. She was holding on to his body with everything she got, and the close contact of skin on skin only intensified the whole experience.

She easily matched his rhythm, her longer and deeper moans an indication that she was just as lost in the moment as he was. “More,” she kept begging repeatedly, “more.”

Draco carefully increased the pace, clinging to the last of his control, as a familiar warmth was already pooling in his loins.

“Yes!” she hissed when he thrust harder than intended into her and held on even tighter to his body.

But then she rolled her hips, and he could no longer hold back, finally pushed over the edge. His face buried in her neck, he grunted as he came. It took him only a few more deep thrusts to spill all he had into her before he went still, momentarily lost to the exquisite bliss running through his body.

She was sniffing when he came back down, her lips pressed into a thin line. “Draco... I...”

The tone in her voice pulled him straight out of the content state he always fell into after a climax. Worried, he propped himself up, only to see her fight against tears once more. “Hey, what's the matter? Didn't you...?”

She shook her head. “I'm sorry. I know you did everything for me, and-and I failed–”

“Shh,” he whispered, stopping her gently; he placed soothing kisses on her cheeks. He carefully shifted his weight so that he could use one of his hands. Continuing to kiss her face gently all over, he let his hand wander down until he reached her folds.

“No.” She shook her head and pushed his hand away.

“No?” He stopped and looked at her intently; he couldn't help but feel a little pang in his heart when he saw the disappointment in her face. “Let me help...”

She shook her head again. “Just... just don't move yet. It feels nice. Like we're connected.”

He smiled softly and leaned back down. Even if he was already growing soft again, he had to agree with her, it felt nice to be connected like that.

After a deep breath, she wrapped her arms around his back, nestling her chin against his shoulder. “Thanks.”

 


	5. Chapter 5

It was late the next morning when Draco finally made it out of his bed and into the kitchen for his usual first coffee. He hadn't really slept much, but instead listened to Hermione ramble on about everything and nothing, between further kisses and wandering hands until they finally did fall asleep. So, for the first time ever since this goddamn war had begun, he actually smiled while reaching for his usual mug and pouring some of the steaming coffee on the stove into it.

What he didn't expect, however, was the slap that came out of nowhere, making him see stars momentarily. The smacking sound rang a few seconds longer in his ear, and his jaw probably even cracked a little. Good thing the coffee mug was still on the counter.

“You!” Pansy snarled.

“What was that for?” he asked irritatedly, rubbing his jaw. Merlin, now he understood why Pansy preferred to slap people instead of hexing them. It was fucking painful, and his head still buzzed.

“I saw you two in your bedroom, bloody naked!” She shoved him. “And your room smelled like sex! You idiot couldn't keep it in your pants, could you?”

Still perplexed by her slap, he reached for her hands to keep her from shoving and slapping him further on his chest. “Stop it, Pansy!”

She threw him the deadliest glare she could muster while trying to wriggle out of his tight grip on her wrists. “I told you to wait with her, to be patient. But you obviously can't think straight anymore...”

Draco didn't let go of her; he knew she would either slap him once more or finally hex him into oblivion. “You sound like you're jealous of her–”

“Me? Jealous?” Her chuckle ended in a sneer. “I can have whoever I want; I am NOT jealous of her. But you put us all in danger because you... because you let your dick make the decision. Did she look at you with her brown doe eyes? Did she say please and rub you? Tell me...”

“For your information, I did say please. But my eyes are amber, not brown.”

Both Draco and Pansy turned their heads towards the door, where Hermione was leaning against the frame. She had put on his shirt to cover the most explicit parts of her body, and crossed her arms.

“And you have no right to judge him. If you want to fault someone, then judge me,” Hermione continued, her eyes narrowed at Pansy. “I was selfish, not him. You don't know how overwhelming grief can be, and how it can paralyse you in unexpected moments.”

“Hermione,” Draco said with a soft smile, “it's okay. I can deal with her.”

She returned the smile when she briefly looked at him. “No, if she really wants to blame someone, then it should be me.”

Pansy sighed, even threw her head back in response to the scene in front of her. “At least let go of me, will you?” she said, hold her arms up to show that he was still holding her wrists in a tight grip; she rubbed them, flinching slightly, after he released her with an apologising shrug. “Look, I get that you two want to enjoy your time together, and I'm not entirely against it... But if word gets out that you, Draco, fucked the icon of the resistance, even though she is clearly still mourning her husband, then we might have a problem.”

“What do you mean?” Hermione asked, furrowing her brows.

“Someone might dislike the situation enough to denounce you—both of you. The fascists are just waiting for something like that.”

Draco shared a look with Hermione, seeing realisation dawn on her, probably the same that had hit him. Pansy was right; this could indeed become a problem because Gruber was already trying to find proof of his involvement with the resistance...

“Shit,” Hermione finally whispered and rubbed over her face. “I'm sorry, Pansy. I didn't mean to cause problems.”

“I know. But Draco should have known better.” Pansy gently shoved him as a reminder. “But I can keep my mouth shut. Just please don't do anything so stupid again; you have waited long enough, 4 more months won't kill you.”

“War might,” Draco said, reaching for his mug on the counter. Thankfully, the coffee was still warm enough. He couldn't help but sigh before he took a first sip because again, Pansy was right about it. He should have known better. “Breakfast anyone?”

* * *

 

“Boss!” Yvette called through the office door a month later before she opened it. “One of the resistance girls was here, saying you're needed in the headquarters.”

Draco immediately looked up from the list of stocked alcohol, as the resistance had never so openly asked for his presence in their headquarters. He only ever had to deal with Pansy—that she hadn't come to meet him didn't bode well. “Did anyone see her? What did she say exactly?”

Yvette shook her head. “She only said that you're needed in the headquarters. She looked angry. I think you’d better go there. Martin and I can cover for you until you're back.”

Draco nodded and collected the papers in front of him before he got up to follow her out. “You know how to close down if I'm not back today. I'll let you know later, all right?”

She nodded and turned around to go back downstairs.

For once, Draco used the secret exit next to the toilets, as he noticed a few fascist soldiers sitting inside. They didn't need to know that he was leaving the café. Raising suspicion was the last thing he wanted right now.

Minutes later, after a hurried but careful walk through the small town, he arrived at the headquarters, only to be immediately let inside.

“You made it!” Hermione said when she saw him and got up from the edge of the makeshift bed where she had sat next to Millicent. She tried to smile but somewhat failed.

“Why did you ask for me?” Draco asked, coming closer, but he stopped in his tracks when he saw who was lying on the makeshift bed—Pansy. What he could see of her clothing was splattered with blood. She looked unnaturally pale, and her leg was in a splint. “Wh-What happened?”

“She ran into a group of fascists and they tried to arrest her,” Millicent replied, her voice sounding rather grave. “She could defend herself, but they had two wizards in their group.”

“She was lucky,” Hermione added and joined him. “She could hide fast enough and send a signal before she fell unconscious.”

“She looks bad.” His eyes fixed on the still frame of his oldest friend, Draco twined his fingers with Hermione's for comfort.

“She does. We did everything we could, but we only have very limited supplies, and definitely no Skele-Gro to help with the fracture.”

“Why didn't you bring her to my place?”

“We would have, but you're the Secret Keeper and I can't carry her without raising suspicion,” Hermione replied calmly. “We need your help to transport her to your place. Millie volunteered to care for her. And I will take over her position as head until she is back–”

“Hermione, you can't... It's too dangerous,” he stopped her in a whisper, earning himself a stern glare from her.

“I'm not going to join field operations, but someone has to organise the group while she is out.”

He sighed. “Fine. Just promise you really won't join any dangerous field operations.”

“I promise,” she said, lifting her free hand for an oath. “Now, please help us bring her over. We already cared for her injuries, but she isn't safe enough here.”

The transport of Pansy to his place went surprisingly smooth, without any disruption by suspecting forces wanting to check the goods they were carrying. Once inside, the logistics of who would sleep where posed a small dilemma—Hermione occupied the only guest room while Pansy had used the living room as her bedroom during the night, transforming the settee into a bed to sleep on it.

“I’ll take the living room,” Hermione offered, “she can have my bed.”

“I'm not letting you sleep in the living room,” Draco replied in a stern whisper. “You'll sleep in my room.”

“You know what can happen!”

“You two, stop it!” Millicent intervened. “I don't care what is or isn't going on between you two, but Pansy is more important. And I’ll share the room with her.”

Hermione and Draco exchanged a look, coming to the same understanding that there was more to Millicent's decision than just simple compassion. “Of course, you can stay as long as she needs you,” he finally said with an appeasing smile. His place was starting to get overrun with resistance women.

“Do you need anything else?” Hermione asked, glancing at Pansy who was lying on her bed, wincing slightly when she moved in her sleep.

Millicent shook her head, her lips pressed into a thin line, but still attempting a smile. “I'll let you know.”

Hermione pulled Draco out of the guest room, closing the door behind them. “Nice that Millie wants to care for Pansy...”

“You've noticed it, right?”

Glancing at the door, Hermione nodded. “Yes, I think so. As much as I admire Pansy for what she does, she is still a piece of work...”

Draco nodded and pulled her closer for a hug. “You’ll still sleep in my room. I don't care what the others say.”

After a second of reluctance, and to his relief, she nodded.

 

The next morning, Draco wanted to check in on Pansy before he left to open the café for the day. He could hear voices when he slowly opened the door, hoping it wouldn't give him away. At least Pansy was awake again.

“Millie, you don't have to do everything for me...”

“I'm worried, you know? You're constantly putting yourself in so much danger instead of sending others. I don't want to miss you.”

Draco could hear a sigh and assumed it was Pansy in response to Millicent's admission.

“I know. I'd miss you too,” Pansy replied, and let out a pained gasp, as she probably tried to move. “I'm glad you're here.”

Draco dared to open the door further and finally caught a glimpse of the two women—Millicent had joined Pansy on the bed, and they lay there in each other's arms. Pansy showed bruises everywhere, and her splinted leg was elevated on several cushions.

“What–?” Hermione came out of his bedroom, putting her unruly mass of hair into a tail to get it out of her face; she nodded when he signed her to be silent and joined him at the door. “Oh my god, they are kissing,” she whispered, gasping quietly in surprise.

He nodded and carefully closed the door. “We should leave them alone. They have enough to go through.”

“Yeah, and Pansy is looking better already.” She turned around to look at him with a soft smile. “It doesn't bother you that she is into girls?”

Pushing an obstinate strand out of her face, he shook his head. “Pansy always had her own ideas about what she liked.”

She captured his hand with hers, only to place a soft kiss in his palm. “I'm just glad she found someone who really cares about her, you know?”

He smiled at the touch of her lips. “I thought you wanted to lie in bed a little longer, feeling exhausted?”

She nodded tentatively, twining her fingers with his. “It's probably just the stress catching up with me... And I needed to pee.”

“You're sure it's just stress?” he asked, not convinced by her rather evasive answer. He had noticed her increased exhaustion levels over the last week—she slept a lot more and needed more coffee to keep up with everything she was involved in for the resistance group.

“Draco, I'm fine. No need to worry.” To reassure him, she squeezed his hand. “I'll read a bit in bed and then check with Pansy whether there is anything that needs to be done.”

He nodded, pulling her closer for a hug. After a night in the same bed, simply cuddling against each other, he wasn't ready to leave her for work. For the first time ever since he had opened his café in this provincial town, he felt the urge to just stay at home, not to bother with it all. The hug was a reminder to get him through the day, something he couldn't wait to get back to.

After a brief chuckle that turned into a yawn, Hermione let him wrap his arms around her shoulders while he placed hers around his waist. “I'm going to miss that all day...”

He smiled when he felt her hands run up and down his back. “Me too,” he replied in a quiet voice before he let go of her, only to tilt her head up for a kiss on her forehead. “I need to go, or Martin will complain all day about the hassle of having to prepare the café by himself.”

“Just be careful.”

“You know I am. I'll try to be home a bit earlier tonight; I hope you're still awake then.”

She nodded. “I'll wait for you. Now go, and tell Martin not to be such a lazy butt.”

* * *

 

Their arrangement with Pansy and Millicent in the guest room seemed to work out for the following weeks, even though Draco sometimes felt a bit left out amidst the three women, and sometimes suspected they had something going on he wasn't let in on.

The more time passed, the more restless Pansy grew. She was stuck in bed with her broken leg, as it was near impossible to find the ingredients for Skele-Gro to help mending her bones faster—all they could do was brew potions for pain relief, while Millicent did everything else to help the mending process, from casting spells that would encourage the healing process to simply bringing her food. To Draco’s surprise, Pansy barely complained about Millicent's attention, but rather enjoyed having someone fussing over her for once. It had been a bit hard to wrap his mind around Pansy and Millicent getting close to each other —closer than he and Hermione could at the moment, to his chagrin!—but in the end, it didn't matter that much. Pansy would always be Pansy, no matter who she was with for the moment.

Draco was more worried about Hermione, as her exhaustion only grew over time, and he suspected that her involvement with the resistance group as a temporary replacement for Pansy had something to do with it.

So, one night, when he came home earlier after a quiet evening at the café, he found Pansy and Hermione sitting in the living room, talking about what he assumed to be related to the group.

“I just don't know, Pansy,” Hermione said rather worried, yet unaware of his presence. “Maybe it really is all the stress recently that causes the delay. It can't be.”

“Shh...” Pansy placed a finger on her lips as soon as she spotted Draco in the door frame. “Well, look who's back home alive and in one piece.”

With wide eyes, Hermione turned around and then smiled with cheeks blushing in embarrassment.

“What are you doing up?” he asked in surprise and entered the room to sit down on the armrest of the settee, next to Hermione, whose gaze was fixed on her hands.

“Millie said I only need to keep my leg elevated,” she replied, pointing at her leg comfortably put up on the small table.

“She's already asleep,” Hermione added. After a deep breath, she finally turned towards him and tentatively reached for his hand.

“And you two are having a late night girls talk?” he remarked with a short smirk, his mind momentarily focusing on the touch of her hand, having missed it all day. With his thumb, he drew small patterns on her wrist, knowing it helped her calm down—and she looked like something was currently upsetting her.

“No,” Pansy replied, crossing her arms, “just resistance stuff. We can finally use the supplies you organised for us...”

“The less I know, the better for both of us,” he stopped her. “Gruber suspects you're attempting a new attack. I had the pleasure of him visiting me today and he told me, probably to get some sort of reaction. Like a fucking bloodhound, this man.”

“Did he do anything?” Hermione asked, leaning into him for comfort.

“Thank Merlin's seven hells, no! I think he knows about our little deal, Pansy, because he knew what I was trying to buy for you.”

“They are getting nervous... They know something is about to happen, but they don't know what nor where.” Pansy flexed her fingers and leaned forward, reaching for her plastered leg.

“Don't scratch,” Hermione said, grabbing her shoulder to pull her back. “I can bring you another batch of the skin potion before you go to bed.”

“Please! It's driving me mad!” With a resigned sounding sigh, she leaned back. “I think it's time to go to bed for me anyway, or Millie won't shut up about staying up too long. Help, anyone?”

* * *

 

Draco was deeper involved in the attack the resistance carried out a few days later than he ever wanted, as a group of resistance members ran into his café after a loud bang could be heard throughout the town—they must have blown up a building that belonged to the fascists; he just hoped for their sakes and his that it hadn't been the headquarters.

“What are you doing here?” he asked the three men when they tried to hide in the back, his voice a hissed whisper as he tried to keep his anger in check. “You know you can't hide in here.”

The men flinched only briefly under his furious stare. “Oh, come on, the whole town knows whose side you're really on–”

“Get out! Take the secret exit, but get out!”

“Mr Malfoy...”

Draco rolled his eyes when he heard the one voice that managed to piss him off by simply hearing it. After a beseeching glare at the three resistance men in the back to stay the fuck quiet, he turned around to meet the new arrival. “Lieutenant Gruber, what a _pleasure_.”

“Cut the crap. We saw them running in here, where are they?” Gruber motioned his soldiers to search the premises.

“No. Not this time.” Draco quickly cast several Shield Charms that kept the soldiers from going any further than where they were standing. “I told you before, this place is a sanctuary FOR EVERYONE! Your accusation is entirely baseless, so I won't have you harass my patrons over nothing, Lieutenant, just because you believe you saw someone running in here.”

“Mr Malfoy, they are wanted for attempting to blow up our headquarters. They are lucky I wasn't in the building when the bomb exploded. My soldiers will search your joint. We aren't simply rounding up the usual suspects. They were seen...” Gruber sneered the last words, displaying his usual arrogance. “And I do hope you still have some of that gin left...”

“The bottle is unfortunately empty, Lieutenant,” Draco replied with the same sneer, the only sign of the anger simmering just beneath his skin. “And you missed my point. It is well within my abilities to keep your people from searching my joint, as you called it. I was lenient the last time you destroyed everything, I won't have that again.”

“You forget we have some of your kind as well–”

“And you don't know what I'm really capable of.” Draco was holding his wand tightly in his hand, ready to cast several jinxes to prove his point. He wasn't stupid; he knew exactly who was on the other side and what their abilities were—none of them even closely matched his. “I don't tolerate harassment in my café, so kindly leave.”

“Flaubert!”

A soldier from the back brought a townsman to the front. “Speak,” the soldier ordered, shaking the man roughly.

“Are you absolutely sure that you saw the fugitives run in here?”

Draco used the moment Flaubert stared at him in an attempt to recall the memory, and non-verbally cast the Confounding Spell to suggest that he might have seen them running past and rather into a side street. The spell had taken a lot of practice to cast non-verbally, but it was essential to keep his tracks covered when out on business for the resistance.

Seconds later, Flaubert shook his head. “I don't know, Lieutenant. I mean, they could have run past it. It happened so fast...”

Gruber turned back to face Draco, scrutinizing him, and then shook his head. “You.”

“I told you they aren't in here, Lieutenant,” Draco replied, raising his eyebrow. “Maybe you should take other places into your consideration next time something happens to your regiment.”

“Don't think you're off the hook with that, Mr Malfoy. Your end might come sooner than you think,” Gruber said, turning around. “We’re leaving. There's nothing to be found here.”

To Draco's great relief, the trick worked. As soon as the soldiers had left the building, he returned to the corner where the resistance members were still hiding. “You fucking idiots! What did you think coming here?!”

“This is the safest place in the whole village,” the oldest of the three men replied, staring right back at him.

“Not for you anymore,” Draco said, his jaw clenching. He was on the verge of hexing those three men into oblivion for being so stupid. “I don't want to see you in here ever again, you fucking risked me getting arrested, and, believe me, Pansy will have a go at you for that. Or Hermione for that matter.”

“We didn't mean to–”

“GET OUT OF MY PLACE! NOW!” This time, Draco emphasised his words with a well-placed Stinging Hex aimed at the man in front, who immediately squealed in pain.

The resistance members left without any further words through the secret exit next to the toilets, much to Draco's relief.

He breathed in deeply several times before he put his wand back into its usual pocket and then turned to Martin at the bar who had silently witnessed everything. “Close down for today. I have some personal matters to attend to.”

This had been too close to an arrest for his liking, just because those resistance members had no better idea than to hide in his café; there had to be consequences for the group this time. He already risked enough by playing the group's supplier; he didn't need them risking his business as well. 

* * *

 

 

“Why did you have to come as well?” Millicent said with a concerned tone to her voice when the women made it back to Draco's place from the headquarters in the evening, her pushing Pansy in an improvised wheelchair with Hermione coming in after them. “They are searching the whole town for you!”

Pansy sneered in response. “It's _my_ group, Millie. I told them repeatedly that Draco's café is off limits–”

“I could have handled it,” Hermione added, closing the door.

Draco was in the living room, reading for once, but could hear their conversation clearly enough. The exhaustion in Hermione's voice, however, had him jerk up in concern. He already kept a close eye on her whenever they were home, not in the least convinced by her repeated reassurance that everything was fine.

“I know, but I wanted to make clear once more that I'm willing to throw them out if they go against my orders, regardless whether I'm fit or stuck in a wheelchair. He does more than enough for us, so we can at least stick to his house rules.” Pansy sighed deeply, irritation still apparent in her words. “Millie, don't. I can do it myself.”

“Wait, wait...”

“Just let me be!”

Moments later, the three women entered the living room—Pansy limping slowly while supported by Millicent, and Hermione right behind them. She smiled softly when she saw Draco on the settee with a book in his lap. He got up to make room for Pansy to sit down comfortably before claiming the armchair next to it, slightly astonished to see Pansy reach for Millicent's hand despite her still persistent scowl.

Hermione, on the other hand, sat down on the armrest of the armchair, even tentatively so. “How was the evening?” she asked, again smiling softly.

“Quiet, at least compared to yours. How did it go?” Carefully, he placed his arm around her and slowly pulled her down until she was sitting in his lap, her head leaning against his shoulder.

“I've never seen Pansy explode like this,” Hermione replied, propping herself into a more comfortable position. “They were just stupid to run into your café like this.”

“I almost got arrested because of their act. And I wouldn't want to be at the receiving end of Pansy's wrath, or yours.” He placed a kiss on her head, sensing how she started to relax. “You all right?”

She nodded and put a hand on her mouth to keep a yawn contained. “Just tired.”

“You're tired a lot these days,” he replied, letting his concern shine through.

“It's just been a bit much today. The attack didn't exactly go according to plan, and then you came in.”

Draco glanced over to Pansy and Millicent, who were having their own conversation, with Pansy thankfully finally calming down. “I think we should all call it a night. Tomorrow's not going to be any easier. They might try a crackdown on the resistance for today.”

Hermione sighed and nodded. “Most probably. They would just love to get their hands on Pansy, or me.”

“I won't let that happen.” After another peck, he carefully tried to shift his position so that he could get up with her in his arms. “Hold on tight.”

Hermione chuckled when he got up, holding on tight to his neck. “You're an idiot.”

“Only for you,” he replied with a cocky smirk before he turned towards the other two. “You two don't need any help?”

Pansy shook her head. “Just go to bed already; she needs her sleep...”

Draco didn't miss the suggestion in her words but didn't know what she was referring to. “Don't stay up too long either.” With that, Draco carried Hermione towards their currently shared bedroom.

“You should do that more often...”

 

“Draco?”

He was already dozing off shortly after carrying Hermione to bed, with her comfortably snug in his arms, when her voice pulled him back. “Hmm?”

“You're awake?” Her hands were stroking over his arm around her waist; her voice sounded sleepy, but there was an insecure tone to it.

“Now I am...” His eyes still closed, he placed a kiss on her shoulder. “What's the matter? Can't sleep?”

“I think I need to tell you something.”

He only pulled her closer in response to her words, his mind totally focused on the relaxing feeling of her form against his.

“Draco? I think I'm pregnant.”

Shocked, he opened his eyes to stare at her, without reacting any further. His sleepy brain took almost a minute to fully process that piece of information and what it meant. He was rendered speechless, unable to form words, even though he knew she wanted a reaction, while his mind was now racing. Merlin's seven hells, they only ever had sex once—and they forgot about protection!

Now his heart was racing too, and he felt a panic attack threaten to overwhelm him. She was pregnant for heaven's sake! However, a deep breath managed to disperse the panic, and he couldn't help but smile when he placed his hand more protectively on her still flat stomach. “Marry me.”

“Draco! I don't think you understood.”

“I did. Marry me.”


	6. Chapter 6

The next morning, Draco woke up to an empty bed. After a moment, he remembered her words from the night before, and his half-awake brain first thought it had only been a dream because he had been halfway down the path to sleep when she told him about being pregnant. Where was she? He thought they could discuss it properly in the morning, once they were both awake once more. With a smile, he got up to get a coffee in the kitchen before he would start his day.

“He's not an idiot, Hermione,” Pansy said, her voice coming from the kitchen as he approached it.

Hermione clicked her tongue. “He didn't even freak out. There was just silence, you know? Silence. And then he asked me to marry him. Just that.”

“What did you expect?” Millicent asked, sounding bored.

“Just a few more questions, maybe some excitement. Maybe even some first discussion what we're going to do now. I'm pregnant, for Merlin's sake!”

“I know,” Draco said from the door frame, smirking when the women in the room turned their heads towards him in surprise. “I heard what you said last night. And I can tell you it was a shock.”

“But–”

“Hermione, come on, you’ve waited until I was basically asleep to tell me.” He entered the kitchen and wandered to the counter with the cupboards to reach for a mug, sighing when he saw their sceptical faces. He needed his coffee before he could face their trial because that was what it felt like right now. “And you haven't answered my proposal yet.”

Pansy scowled at him, while Hermione took a sip from her coffee, a piece of buttered bread untouched in front of her while she chewed on a piece of apple. “Romantic much?”

He scowled right back at Pansy. “Do you want me to kneel down and be poetic about it?”

“Drink your coffee, maybe then you’ll come to your senses!”

Pansy's indignation—which was surely on Hermione's behalf—was unbearable before his first coffee. His proposal might have lacked the usual pomp, but it had been in earnest. Sure, he had been shocked to hear the news because he hadn't expected it, and it still seemed a bit like a dream now, but he wasn't going to back out now.

Pansy kept scowling at him while he emptied his first mug of coffee. “You... really. The biggest romantic I know and then you just... No.” She shook her head in disbelief.

Draco didn't even respond to her remark, it wasn't worth the trouble, as they would end up in an argument if he took the bait. Instead, he turned around to refill his mug before he joined them at the table. “Look, Hermione, I love you with everything that en–”

“Yes.”

Her interjection caught him off-guard, and he stared blankly at her while slowly sitting down on her side, opposite Pansy. “What?”

“My answer is yes.”

His eyes widened, first in disbelief at what he had just heard, then in shock. He was unable to respond in the first moment; however, he managed to keep his mouth closed while staring at her. “Y-Yes?”

Hermione chuckled; her head leaned on her hand while she looked at him. “Yes.” The previously wary expression had changed into one of love, softening her features and curling up her lips into a big, warm smile.

“Oh, come on, kiss her already, you idiot!” Pansy said, holding back a laugh. “Now that the damage is done...”

* * *

 

However happy they were in their tiny bubble, the town was in an uproar following the bomb explosion in the fascists' headquarters. In retaliation, everyone who had even slightest known connections to the local resistance group was arrested and at least interrogated—the rumours spreading through the town told of gruesome methods to get a confession of collaboration from those arrested. Those who could tried to flee the town; those who couldn't tried to hide from the fascists.

Even Draco was in trouble now, as Gruber had set his mind on catching him in the act, so to speak. Soldiers were following his every step through town, not the least bit covert about it. They were just waiting for him to make a mistake, and he had to be particularly careful whenever he left his place, and even more so when he returned to it.

When the fascists started to do mass arrests, he decided to drop his guard and act true to his beliefs, turning the café into a safe place for any townspeople trying to hide from the fascists. With every Repelling and Protection Charm he could think of, he hid his café in plain sight— officially, it was closed as there wasn't any business to be made with the fascists in full retaliation mode, but for the knowing, it was open as a hiding spot. And still, the numbers of those arrested increased, and fast.

It had taken him a long argument with the women hiding in his place, protected by the Fidelius Charm, to convince them to stay inside. He wasn't going to risk any of them being arrested, not Hermione, who was pregnant with his child, not Pansy, his oldest friend, nor Millicent, for Pansy's sake.

“Boss?” Martin pushed his head through the door to Draco's office one early afternoon, worry clearly written on his features.

“What is it?” Draco said, turning his attention from the ceiling he had just been staring at mindlessly to his employee.

“We have a problem.”

Groaning from the sting in his neck muscles, Draco got up to follow Martin downstairs. Problems were all he had these days; it was a scarily thin line to walk these days in order not to be arrested. And with Gruber, it was just a question of _when_ for Draco, not _if._

“They are coming for you! Gruber wants you arrested!” It was the resistance member with the brown beret; he had been smart enough until now to escape arrest. He was on the verge of panic, pacing up and down in front of the stairs, waiting for them to join him. “Gruber knows about your spells and stuff to protect the café. He wants you!”

“Slow down,” Draco said, finally reaching the landing. “What does he know exactly?”

“Everything! He knows that you protect it with spells, and that you use it to harbour those trying to get away! You have to leave; they are getting closer as we speak! And he has more of your kind with him!”

Draco had expected it, but not this soon. He was speechless for a moment, staring straight through the brown beret, while his ever-calculating mind was already working on a plan. For seemingly long seconds, he didn't respond in any way.

“Boss?” Martin asked after a few more seconds, shoving Draco to get his attention. “We need to leave–”

“I need to send a message. Resistance headquarters still standing?”

The brown beret nodded, his brows furrowed in confusion. “Not many left there to operate it, though...”

“A single person is already enough,” he said before concentrating on Transforming essential parts of his looks. It had become second nature to use Transformation Spells, but casting them still required concentration if he wanted to get it right. Once done, he looked exactly like one of those older farmhands coming into town for the market. He went over to the bar to grab a pen and one of the note blocks Edith and Yvette worked with to scribble down a few things. “Martin, leave immediately. You and the girls can hide here if it gets worse. It's protected by the strongest spell, one they can't break. Tell them to think of the place when they stand in front of the address. Don't give it to anyone else, understood?”

“But-but, this is your address!” Martin cried out, nodding tentatively that he understood.

“Martin, if everything is going as I hope it will, then I won't come back. At least not until the war is over.”

“This is goodbye then,” Martin replied, putting the notes away, only to extend a hand for a shake.

“This is goodbye, yes.” With a sense of apprehension and a sinking heart, Draco accepted the hand. He would never admit it, but he was going to miss his barkeeper and the girls. If they made it through the war alive, he would come back and find them.

 

When they left the building through the secret exit, Draco could already hear the soldiers in the nearby streets, and he felt his adrenaline rise instantly. It had been a narrow escape, and he didn't want to imagine what he would have done just to avoid arrest—it was war after all.

Using side streets and detours, and barely avoiding a run-in with unsuspecting soldiers just a few houses away, he finally arrived at the resistance headquarters—he had never felt more glad that Pansy had insisted on Protection Charms surrounding the place; it made the headquarters almost impenetrable for outsiders, similar to what he had done to his café.

“Let me in!” he shouted impatiently while knocking the code to receive entry.

“Who is it?” a woman opened and stared at him for several long seconds before the glint of recognition sparked in her eyes. “Get inside.”

Without any hesitation, Draco entered the headquarters and immediately lifted the Transforming Spells. Only to be surprised by a tight hug. “Merlin, Millie, what are you doing here?”

With an embarrassed grin, she let go of him and even took a step back. “Just collecting a few important things–”

“I thought we agreed on–”

“Not now, Draco,” she stopped him with a stern glare that accepted no further protest. “Why are _you_ here?”

After a deep breath, he ran his hand through his hair. “We need to send a message to the Allies to get us out. Gruber now wants to arrest me; I barely escaped in time. And he might be after you all too.”

She nodded, her face growing a tad paler than it already was. “I’ll get the codebook, you write the message down.”

 

Back home at his place, after a frustratingly long time to finally convince the Allies to get them out, Draco immediately started collecting everything they would need.

“Draco, wh-what's going on?” Hermione asked when she woke up from her nap, turning around with a yawn.

“We need to leave. Now.”

“Draco, the town is swarming with soldiers–”

“I know. Gruber has sent his people to arrest me. Pack everything you need.” He Summoned everything from the wardrobe into a magically extended bag, something Hermione had shown him. “The Allies are sending a boat, and we need to catch it.”

“What about Pansy and the others?” Fully awake, she climbed out of the bed and stopped him momentarily.

“Millie is packing her things right now.”

“We can't just leave–”

“You find that we can. I'm not going to risk losing you _again._ ” Taking her hands in his, he leaned forward until their foreheads touched. “Please, Hermione, staying here is suicidal. With Gruber out to get his hands on me, it's no longer safe for any of us, even with the Fidelius protecting this place. As much as you hate to hear it, I do feel responsible for your safety, and I'm not going to–”

“Yes, I hate to hear it...” With a grim smile, she made a step to the side towards the small improvised nightstand to grab her wand before placing a soft kiss on his cheek. ”But I'm not suicidal. Not with what I have now.”

* * *

 

“Draco, please don't be so nervous,” Hermione said, standing next to him at the coast, their eyes fixed on the landmass just across the Channel.

Draco sighed and reached for her hand, immediately relaxing into the soothing touch. The last few days had been hell, trying to reach the spot where the Allies had sent a boat to. Whatever they had tried in order to hide their tracks, the fascists had been close behind them, driving him mad to the point of paranoia.

And it had been damn close twice, only warned moments before the fascists entered the building they were hiding in. Too damn close. Millicent had barely been fast enough to cast a Shield Charm when the fascists had attacked them before she could hide in a side entrance. And they hadn't just sent soldiers after them, but wizarding folk that were able to track their magical traces.

But to his surprise, Hermione proved to be the most ruthless of them all, hitting back with every jinx and curse she could think of, not even restraining from the Killing Curse in response to Millicent almost being hit by it. It had been as if she was taking out her grief and her anger on them, only to break down afterwards, once they settled down for the night.

“It's just...” Draco sighed and squeezed her hand briefly.

“I know,” Hermione replied in a whisper and leaned into him. “I'm sure they will arrive soon.”

Longing for more contact, he pulled her in for an embrace, smiling when she let him wrap his arms around her shoulders while hers slipped under his open coat to hold onto his waist. “I'm sorry.”

“Don't be.”

“I just want to know you're safe.” He closed his eyes, letting his mind follow the patterns she was drawing on his back for a moment. “They knew where we were heading, they can't be too far off–”

“I'm safe wherever you are,” she replied softly, interrupting his spiralling thoughts before he couldn't snap out of them again. Chuckling, she tilted her head up to look at him. “Hell, that just sounded corny.”

“Yes.” He joined her chuckle and then took a deep breath. “You know that I didn't just propose because...” because–”

“Because I'm pregnant and you wanted to protect my honour?” She shook her head. “No, I never thought that, but it wasn't exactly how a woman wants to be proposed to, honestly. And we will tell our daughter–”

“Son–”

“–our DAUGHTER a different story about your proposal. More like how you surprised me with a proper ring–”

“If we make it over, I'll buy you that damn ring–”

“Let me finish, all right?” She smiled softly when he nodded. “It's not important what we're going to tell her; it's only important that we love each other... I know you can be an over-protective snarky git, and I'm probably a clingy, sometimes insufferably head-strong swot, but in the end, we just want to see the other safe and happy. That's what counts. I'm sure we're going to make it work.”

“Oh, you two!” Pansy remarked when she limped closer on her crutches, built out of branches they had found on the streets between villages, with Millicent just behind her, checking the surroundings. “Ever the sappy couple...”

Draco scrunched his face in response while Hermione could help but laugh. “Ignore him, Pansy. Just his frustration speaking.”

Pansy briefly joined the laughter at his expense, but then froze when she looked out on the sea, only to have a big smile break out seconds later. “Here they are.”

Both Draco and Hermione turned around to find what Pansy had meant. There was indeed a fishing boat visible, coming closer at high speed. For Draco, this was the first moment he allowed himself to relax in days. “Here they are,” he whispered, repeating Pansy's words rather absentmindedly.

Hermione nodded. “We made it,” she said in the same whispering tone and pulled him down for a heartfelt kiss.

Draco couldn’t help but smile into the kiss, letting the soft, soothing touch of her lips turn his fears into hope. Safety was within reach, promising a future he had barely dared to hope for. And holding onto this promise, he kissed her back, no longer restraining himself, just enjoying the ardent moment.

It was Pansy who eventually brought them back with a tap of her crutch to their legs. “The boat is here. Let's get on and leave this country.”

Holding hands, Draco and Hermione followed Pansy and Millicent onto the boat. They made it, and the future was theirs, whatever it would hold. “Here's looking at us, love.”

 


End file.
